


Harry Potter and the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man('s Girlfriend)

by Baron_Barkonnen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Michelle Jones, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter Needs Therapy, Keep Harry safe 2k20, Magic in the MCU, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Michelle Jones is a Little Shit, Michelle is a witch, NOT endgame compliant, Spideychelle, Two Golden Trios, adopted family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 66,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27642551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baron_Barkonnen/pseuds/Baron_Barkonnen
Summary: “Sup, nerd.” MJ said as she plopped down on her favorite spot on the couch.Harry blinked, taken aback by the… greeting? Was that what it was? “Hello, er, I’m-”“I know who you are, dude,” MJ cut him off. “Saw the scar, told me everything I needed to know.”“No it doesn’t,” Harry countered. “People take one look at me and think they know everything about me. Most of the time they’re wrong.”MJ quirked an eyebrow. “Really? Well then, what are you like… Harry Potter?”
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 43
Kudos: 110





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Some thing to note about this, before we begin. So, in order for the Harry Potter stuff to fit into the MCU timeline, I've shifted it up to basically modern times. That means Harry was born in 2003, his parents were killed in 2004, and his first year in Hogwarts was in like, 2014 or something. Also, Endgame didn't happen. Thanos was miraculously defeated before he could do the whole Snap thing. I agonized for days on how to incorporate the Snap into the Harry Potter timeline, but it's something so huge that I can't write it in a way that doesn't fundamentally change the story. So the Snap is gone.

**_Battle of New York_ **

**_Spring, 2012_ **

Monique ducked and rolled underneath an energy blast from an alien rifle. On her way up, she countered with her own energy blast. It erupted from the wand in her hand, and sizzled through the air as it travelled to it’s target. The alien screeched in what she assumed to be shock and pain as it’s arm was literally magically severed at the shoulder. She silenced the creature with a cutting curse to the neck, wincing in distaste as the head rolled off it’s shoulders.

That was a curse she learned from her husband, who apparently learned it from an acquaintance at school. She normally _hated_ using such dark curses. It made her wand arm ache. But, these were extenuating circumstances. After all, it wasn’t every day New York City was invaded by literal space aliens.  
“How’re you doing, baby?” Her husband asked as he cast a blasting curse at an alien craft as it flew by overhead.

She shielded her head from the explosion before replying, “Oh, about as well as you’d expect.”

When they got the call from Headquarters for an emergency assembly in Midtown Manhattan, the husband and wife auror duo couldn’t believe their eyes. Alien ships were literally descending through the clouds above the city. It was almost as shocking as the order to blatantly defend the city using magic. Well, maybe not so blatantly. They were specifically told to work in containing the invaders to areas already evacuated by the non-magical populace. In that way they could repel the invasion, hopefully without being seen by non-magical people. The International Statute of Secrecy was still a priority apparently. 

Which personally made no sense to Monique. Aliens were literally rampaging through the streets. By comparison, how shocking would the revelation of an international secret society of magical people be to the general populace, really? Monique had no time to continue pondering the long term implications. The office building they were currently taking pot shots from was about to collapse, the sustained fire from alien energy weapons finally becoming too much for the building’s supports to sustain. 

Monique struck a nearby windowpane with a blasting curse, and jumped through just as the walls started coming down. Thankfully, her husband was right behind her. Two loud pops echoed through the street in quick succession as they apparated to street level. They reappeared next to their Department Head. Captain Edward was surrounded by a half dozen of their coworkers, and they were all trying in vain to keep the alien horde from charging down the street.

Hundreds of feet above them, there was a mighty roar, followed by the sound of what Monique assumed to be jet engines. Only it wasn’t a no-maj jet. Sailing through the air above them was… Well, her first thought was it was the Jolly Green Giant. Then she remembered her briefings on the non-magical world. That was the creature known as ‘The Hulk’. The product of a no-maj experiment with radiation gone wrong, if she remembered correctly.

Her and her compatriots watched in shock as the giant green creature brought down one of the flying bio-mechanical snake monster things, the carcass crashing into the horde of alien foot soldiers about to charge their position.

Edward sighed in relief, then readjusted his badly torn red auror cape. “Well, that was lucky,” he paused before continuing. “But I don’t think our luck is going to hold.” He turned to the rest of the team. “We’re falling back.”

Monique’s husband shook his head adamantly. “No. We can’t just abandon the city!”

Monique, and the rest of the team nodded in agreement.

“We have no choice, Rowan. Even with these… special no-maj’s help, we can’t hope to repel these kinds of numbers. Get back to your families, spread the word. All magical families are to floo to-”

His order was cut off by a series of terrible crashes. The alien dragon-snake monster things were literally falling out of the sky en masse, some colliding with skyscrapers, debris raining down as the huge buildings fell to the earth. The alien foot soldiers soon followed suit, falling to the floor in massive heaps. Then the alien craft began to rain down around them as well.

The auror team collectively cast shielding charms to deflect the falling vehicles. Once the immediate danger of being crushed passed, the auror squad gingerly walked towards the piles of fallen enemies.

Monique nudged the body of one of the allies with her foot, her wand raised just in case it was just unconscious or something. But thankfully, the alien seemed well and truly dead. “That was… fortuitous…”Monique said with a sense of… dare she say, hope?

“Indeed,” Edward nodded as he sheathed his wand. “Looks like whatever those special no-maj’s were doing, it worked.” He pulled a flask from a pouch on his waist belt and took a deep swig. “Alright, people. I need to figure out what the hell just happened. In the meantime, go home to your families.”

A series of staccato p ops later, and he was standing alone in the ruins of the street. Edwards took one last swig from his flask, then apparated himself to MACUSA headquarters...

* * *

Michelle watched the carnage through her window, shaking with worry as tears poured down her cheeks. Their cozy little house in Jamaica, Queens normally offered no view of Manhattan. It was just too far away, there were too many buildings in the way. So her dad charmed her bedroom window to show a real time view of the Manhattan skyline. She regretted asking him to do that now.

She could see the utter destruction with distressing clarity. And she knew her parents were in the middle of it. They were both highly trained and highly skilled aurors. In her (admittedly extremely biased) opinion, they were the best in their department. But how  _ anyone _ could survive the horrific devastation, magical or otherwise, Michelle had no idea… Which is why she almost fainted when the arms of her magical clock finally moved from ‘mortal peril’ to ‘home’, and she heard two pops from the living room. 

“Oof,” Rowan grunted as his daughter basically full body tackled him in a bear hug. She hadn’t done that to him since she was a toddler. And now that she was eleven years old, she almost took him to the ground. “Easy, sweetie. I’m okay. We’re both okay,” Rowan soothed as he ran his fingers through his daughter’s curls.

“Are  _ you _ okay, baby?” Monique asked as she wiped the tear tracks from her daughter’s cheeks.

“Y-yeah. I-I’m o-okay,” her daughter stuttered, her body still wracked by sobs. “I was j-just… s-so worried…”

“I know, sweetie. But it’s okay. It’s… Well, I don’t really know what happened, but I  _ think _ it’s over,” Rowan said, as his family held each other tight. They spent the next hour huddled together, collectively crying in relief...

* * *

**_Jones Residence_ **

**_Early Summer, 2018_ **

If someone asked eleven year old Michelle if that fateful day six years ago was the most eventful day of her life, young Michelle would probably have nodded so fast her head would have shaken itself off her neck. Seventeen year old Michelle would laugh in that person’s face. Because in the intervening six years since the Battle of New York, a ton of terrifying stuff happened, both in the magical and non-magical world’s.

The non-magical world seemed to be a magnet for narrowly averted disasters and socio-political upheaval. Well, more than usual, that is. And the superhero team colloquially known as the Avengers invariably were always at the center of it. A few years ago a rogue Stark AI destroyed an entire country. Okay, so Sokovia was roughly the size of Mahnattan, with two thirds of the population… but  _ still. _ The Avengers managed to save the population, but the small city-state was utterly destroyed in its entirety. 

And then there was that whole fiasco in Berlin, which saw the splintering of said superhero group. And  _ then _ there was the revelation that Wakanda wasn’t a secretive third world country after all. In fact, apparently it was the most technologically advanced country in the world. A fact that wasn’t unknown to the magical world, but still… 

And then there was  _ another _ alien invasion of New York State. Thankfully, her parents weren’t involved in that one, much. Unfortunately, Spider-man was, and that was an entirely new source of anxiety for Michelle. Because she was sixty-seven percent sure that Spider-man was Peter Parker. And while she’d vehemently deny it if confronted, she had a  _ massive _ crush on Peter. To her relief, that disaster was ended when Tony Stark sacrificed himself to stop a giant purple alien from killing literally half the universe. 

Now, you’d  _ think _ all of that would get the attention of the international magical community. It certainly freaked the hell out of the MACUSA. But for some reason entirely unknown to Michelle, most of the magical world was obsessed with this Potter kid. Well, okay, she knew why. His parents were instrumental in the downfall of the most recent magic Hitler. It still freaked her out that there was more than one of the bastards. Anyway, yeah. She had no idea why the magical community of the world plugged it’s ears to the plights of the non-magical, and focused internally on what in her opinion, was a comparatively tiny issue. That is, until one day when she saw her dad freaking out over a British magical newspaper.

His hands clenched the magical parchment, to the point where she couldn’t make out the headline or the front page pictures. What she could see was the name of the publication itself though…

“I thought you said the  _ Daily Prophet _ was nothing but a sensationalist state run propaganda mill?” Michelle asked curiously. 

Her father pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, it is. But unfortunately they do happen to report useful news once in a blue moon.” His midlands british accent was coming out again. That was bad. His native accent only came back when he was extremely emotionally charged.

Then he aggressively slammed the paper down on the dining room table, finally allowing Michelle to read the front page article.

_ TRIWIZARD TRAGEDY: BOY WHO LIVED, BOY WHO LIES? _

_ From triumph to tragedy. The crowd eagerly awaited the winner of the revived international student competition. But, instead of a single winner appearing from the treacherous hedge maze, the crowd was shocked to see one young man sobbing over the body of his competitor. Harry Potter, the youngest surprise participant, cried over the corpse of one poor Cedric Diggory.  _

_ This, while a tragic turn of events, wasn’t one that was entirely impossible. The Triwizard tournament was suspended for centuries due to the inherent danger of the competition. But, what is a most unwelcome surprise is the claim Harry Potter makes to explain the untimely demise of his competition. _

_ Young Potter continues to assert the return of You-Know-Who, and attributes the death of Diggory to a vicious assault by the apparently undead dark wizard. It is a claim that the Minister Fudge vehemently disputes. Ministry officials are continuing to investigate the true cause of death for young Diggory, many early reports coming to the conclusion that Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the host school, may not have had the most robust safety measures in- _

Michelle stopped reading then and there. She instantly understood why her dad was so aggravated. She knew he was _somehow_ involved in the British Wizarding War, but he never really talked about. Which told her volumes, considering he had no problem telling her the most gruesome details of his extremely dangerous job an auror. Michelle chewed her bottom lip, considering something… “Hey dad, uh… if this is bothering you that much, I could always stay home from the trip-”

“No, its… it shouldn’t be that serious. At least, I don’t  _ think _ so,” her father cut her off. “I know how much this trip means to you. Just… keep your two-way mirror handy, will you?”

“Sure thing,” Michelle nodded. “Uh… I gotta pack…”

Rowan sighed, stopping his daughter before she could go back to her room. “There’s one more thing. When you get back, there might be something… significantly different here. I can’t tell you what it is, just in case it doesn’t pan out. What I can say is that it won’t be anything bad… just… different, okay?”

Michelle raised an eyebrow. Well, that was cryptic. “Okay… sure, right… Uh… gotcha…” And with that, she awkwardly retreated to her room to prepare.

* * *

Of course Monique knew about the troubles in Britain. Somehow, the alleged resurgence of a british dark wizard was enough to supplant the recently repelled alien invasion in the minds of her coworkers. On one hand, she understood that a blood supremacist dark lord was an inherent threat to her half-blood and no-maj born coworkers. But, on the other hand, a titanic mauve alien was a hair’s breadth from wiping out half of all life in the known universe. He was only stopped by sheer luck. Well, that and the personal sacrifice of the wealthiest man on the planet. You’d think that second thing would be a  _ little _ more of a pressing issue, but what did she know?

She currently stood behind and to the left of her boss, Auror Captain Victor Edward, as he answered press questions in the grand plaza of the MACUSA headquarters. He was taking the storm of questions well, but she could tell it was starting to wear on him. A sentiment she understood entirely. If there was one thing she definitely hated in this world, it was a press conference. Thankfully all she had to do was stand there and look intimidating, which was something she was very good at.

Normally Rowan would be there too. While she was the Deputy Chief Auror of the New York Precinct, her husband was a senior member of the staff, so by rights he should be suffering through this with her. But their daughter was leaving for a summer school trip to Europe today, and someone had to take her to the airport. Of course, Michelle could apparate there as she’d gotten her license a few months ago. But it would look strange to the no-majs if a teenage girl were to walk into the terminal without at least one parent, so Rowan was driving her, the lucky bastard.

Thankfully, the press conference seemed to be winding down, which allowed her to slip away and apparate to the wizarding entrance of JFK International. Not only was it the largest airport in New York, but it also happened to be the international portkey hub for the east coast of the United States. Her daughter wouldn’t be taking instantaneous wizarding means of travel though. She was going the no-maj way, which meant Monique had to suffer through the toilet floo that led to the main bathroom by the international terminals. She vanished the gross fake poo water from her body as she stepped out of the stall, and fast walked to the appropriate terminal.

She was in luck, her daughter’s flight had just taxied in. Her and Rowan stood just outside of the crowd of parents and kids. They were huddled together, obviously talking in hushed tones. She caught the tail end of the conversation as she walked up.

“Remember, Michelle. Keep your wand and mirror on you at all times. You understand? All. Times. And your mother and I expect daily mirror calls. Preferably at times when we’d be awake, so stay aware of time zones. Also. If you see anything…  _ strange,  _ call us immediately. You understand? Immediately,” Rowan whispered urgently.

Monique rolled her eyes. She knew there was reason for concern, of course. As much as the British Ministry of Magic denied the return of a certain dark lord, all reports from the MACUSA Intelligence Agency said otherwise. But she seriously doubted he’d do something drastic so soon. If Potter and Dumbledore was to be believed, he only returned a few days ago. Plus, the non-magical world was significantly different since his first defeat. On two separate occasions now they dealt with actual alien invasions. If he had any modicum of intelligence, that fact alone would give him some pause.

“Oh, Rowie, stop being such a worry-wart. She’ll be fine. What I’m worried about is her taking home an… unexpected souvenir. Which is why I’ve picked up these,” Monique said as she not so surreptitiously stuffed a pack of condoms into Michelle’s carry-on. 

“ _ Mama! _ ” Michelle whisper-shouted as she desperately tried to make sure nobody saw. “What the hell?”

“Look, I know we taught you how to brew contraceptive potions, but those aren’t always one hundred percent foolproof. As much as I like the idea of you bringing home a hunky foreign boy, I don’t  _ necessarily _ wanna be a grandma just yet,” Monique said after a fit of giggles.

Rowan looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel. Not because he was angry, but because he was holding back laughter. He was trying not to call attention to the scene. As much as he liked messing with his daughter, he also knew just how much teasing Michelle would go through if her classmates knew that her parents intentionally gave her  _ those _ kinds of prophylactics. 

Fortunately for his embarrassed daughter, it was soon time for her flight to depart. Rowan and Monique hugged her goodbye one last time, and then she was off to her own adventure in Europe.

The couple decided that while they were there, they might as well have an early lunch at the airport’s food court. A few minutes later they were seated together at a table, sharing a very nice pizza. Well, expensive, really. It was good, but in Monique’s humble opinion, not nearly worth the twenty five freaking bucks.

Monique took another bite of their overpriced pizza, starting on her third slice. She noticed Rowan hadn’t touched his first. “Something wrong, baby?”

Rowan sighed, “I have to go to Britain for a few days. I think you know why.”

Monique paused, the slice of pizza halfway to her mouth. “Should I get the guest room ready?”

“I think that’s a good idea. I have a plan. It might not pan out, but chances are my idea will work,” Rowan replied.

Monique nodded, sighed, and took another bite of their expensive pizza.

* * *

Rowan blearily rubbed his eyes. He had to wake up at 4:30 in the morning to make it Surrey by 10 AM, British time. Then he had to make up some dumb story about a black market sale while  _ just _ in the earshot of one Mundungus Fletcher. The none-too-bright conwizard took the bait hook, line, and sinker. With Dumbledore’s dim lackey sufficiently distracted, it was all too easy to waltz right up to his destination.

It was just like he remembered it when he was last here. It was a boring house on a boring street of nigh identical boring houses. Well, maybe the house wasn’t  _ just _ like when he was last there. The flower garden looked a little more filled in, the lawn significantly healthier, and the dreary paint was a little faded with age, but otherwise well taken care of. Which made it look even more depressing in his opinion.

“Dammit, Rowan,” he muttered to himself. “Just walk up to the front door. You don’t have all day.”

He took a deep breath, and walked up the driveway. It was only fifty feet, max, but to him it might as well have been fifty miles. After standing on the front porch for an awkwardly long time, he finally drummed up the courage to ring the doorbell.

He heard heavy, elephantine footfalls just beyond the door. He braced himself for a confrontation with his least favorite person on the face of the planet. The person who answered the door was significantly younger than he expected, though similarly built. A young man of no more than fifteen opened the door. Ah yes, he remembered now. They had a  _ son _ … 

“Hello,” Rowan greeted as cordially as he could. “I’m looking for Petunia Eva-” he caught himself. “ _ Dursley, _ ” he corrected himself. Even just saying that name made him nauseated. 

“Ma, someone at the door for you!” The boy said gruffly, before walking back to the living room, presumably to plant himself firmly on the couch. There was television to be watched, after all.

Which left Rowan awkwardly standing halfway in the doorway when his  _ second _ least favorite person in the world finally decided to walk to the front door. She was just like he remembered, sharing his height and general build, though she had nearly bleach blond hair, whereas his was a vibrant red. 

“ _ You!” _ She spat indignantly.

“Yes Tuney,” Rowan nodded, “Me. Now, are you gonna be the bitch of a sister I grew up with, or are you going to prove my preconceptions wrong and invite me into your…  _ lovely _ home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody? Boy 2020 sure is something, huh? So as you can see I've been gone for a looong time. Had to take an extended mental health break, I hope you all understand. I wanna say, my other fics will be updated soon. In fact, I wanted to get chapters out for them before I started this one. But like. You guys know how it is. Once you get an idea in your head, it burrows deep and you can't think of writing about anything else until you work a lil' bit on it. Anyway, so I hope you like this little idea of mine. I know it's real weird and not a lot of people work these fandoms together. But I got some ideas I think you might like. Anywho, you guys know the drill. Comments are appreciated, but please keep criticism constructive. Also like. As much as I appreciate ideas from you guys, I have a pretty good outline for this story that doesn't really allow for much wiggle room. That being said, if I read something I really like, I might just work it in. Anywho, stay safe, stay sane, and for the love of all that is good and decent in this world, please wear a mask in public! And with that, I bid thee adieu!


	2. Chapter 2

“You have a lot of nerve coming back here!” Petunia all but screeched.

Rowan rolled his eyes in reply, then shouldered past his irate sibling. “Bitchy as ever, I see.”

To the everlasting consternation of his sister, Rowan waltzed right in and plopped himself in a chair at the dining table. Immediately he got a strange sense of lingering magic. Something about… floating? And maybe there was a dog involved? That didn’t make much sense. Whatever it was, it must have been some time ago. One of the skills he developed over the years was the ability to sense the faint residue left behind after a large magical outburst. Depending on how long ago it was, and the strength of the outburst itself, he could get a vague sense of whatever spell or accidental magic was cast. It was a skill that let him convict many a criminal in the past.

It also led him to having a major mental breakdown on one fateful trip to Godric’s Hollow, but that was neither here nor there.

He impatiently tapped his fingers on the cheap wood, while his sister seethed just a few feet away.

“Well?” She ground out after another angry moment. 

Rowan took the time to observe what his nephew was watching on the TV. It was some asinine game show, by the looks of it. He lazily waved his hand in the general direction of the TV set, and the channel automatically changed to something he thought his nephew might find more enlightening. Dudley started at the sudden channel change, but eased back into the couch when he saw it was something he actually liked.

“Space: the final frontier…” the speakers droned, before Rowan tuned it out and returned his attention to his sister.

She was obviously shocked and appalled by his blatant use of magic. But, also considerably more wary than angry. It was good to remind her just where they stood…

“I think you know why I’m here,” Rowan replied after a moment.

Petunia huffed, “Why now? Why not _years_ ago when he was first dumped on my doorstep?”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Dumbledore,” he said, giving her all the answers she needed. And now starting to lose his patience. “Where is he, Tuney? I want to meet him.”

“Boy!” Petunia barked, “Get down here!”

Rowan’s ears perked to the sound of soft creaks as someone made their way down the steps.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia?” A tall lanky boy replied. 

He was skinny. Much skinnier than Rowan would consider healthy. Baggy clothes hung limply off his frame, like loose skin. Hand-me-downs from his cousin, Rowan assumed. His hair was charcoal black, his face a veritable carbon copy of his father’s. As far as Rowan could tell, he was just like his father in almost every way. Except for the need for glasses. And his eyes. When Rowan looked into his eyes, it was like looking in a mirror. The boy had emerald green eyes, just like him. And his sister.

Rowan didn’t know what to say at first. All he could do was stare. Then he realized how creepy he must have looked, and he rose to his feet. “Hello, Harry,” he said almost breathlessly. “D-do you know who I am?”

“No,” the boy replied, as if he’d answered the question a million times. “Should I?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. You were a baby the last time we met,” Rowan said. 

Harry rolled his eyes. Another thing he heard a million times.

Rowan suddenly felt even more nervous. He took a deep breath and said his piece. “Harry, I um… Well… My name is Rowan. Well, Rowan Jones, now,” he chuckled mirthlessly, then continued. “I took my wife’s last name. But my bachelor name was Evans. Rowan Evans.”

Rowan winced. He could feel a bright flash of magic build up in his nephew’s core. He prepared himself to quell whatever accidental magical outburst was coming. But to his surprise, nothing happened.

Harry’s simmering rage boiled off as quickly as it came, leaving only a smouldering indignant anger and sense of curiosity. He took a deep breath. “I think… uncle, you have some explaining to do…”

Rowan nodded numbly. “Q-quite right. Tuney, can I borrow Harry for the day?”

Petunia huffed, “I suppose.”

“It’s still early enough for coffee, I think,” Rowan said as he rose. “Shall we?”

Harry looked unsure for a moment, then nodded briskly.

As they left Number 4 Privet Drive, Rowan shuddered, as if an oppressive and pervasive evil was lifting off his shoulders. “I’ve always hated that house. I remember when Tuney first bought it and moved in with her whale of a husband. I… I think that was the day she really stopped considering herself my sister.” Rowan said wistfully, then shook his head. “Anyway. The one good thing I remember about Surrey is that it used to have a pretty decent coffee shop. I wonder if it’s still open…”

He pulled out his phone to check. One quick google search later confirmed that yes, the shop was still there, under the original ownership no less.

Harry cocked his head. “Wait, so you’re a muggle?”

Rowan rolled his eyes, “No, I’m magical, why do you ask?” he paused. “Ah right. Phone,” he waved his iPhone. “Not all wizards are stuck in the stone age Harry.” Then he ordered an Uber for them.

* * *

  
Harry was still trying to piece together the implications of what he just saw, even as they were driven to a coffee shop a few miles into town. When they got there, he didn’t really know what to order. The Dursley’s rarely took him out to eat. So he let his uncle order for him. 

Rowan got a really strong cold-brew. He needed the caffeine, since he’d been up since four in the morning. He got Harry a nice smooth Vietnamese iced coffee. Something easy to drink, since he got the sense the boy didn’t have much experience with coffee.

Harry took a cautious sip, then drank deeper when he found out that yes, he liked Vietnamese iced coffee. He also felt another spike of anger when he remembered who he was having coffee with. “Alright. Now it’s time to explain.”

Rowan nodded. He twitched his hand, and his wand popped out of his sleeve holster, the handle falling neatly into his palm. “ _Muffliato_ ,” he muttered. Considering they were going to be talking about things that pertained to magic, he felt it was pertinent to keep the no-maj’s surrounding them from overhearing anything weird. He then opened his mouth, before closing it again.

“You know,” Rowan sighed, “I’ve spent so long wondering about this moment, agonizing over what I was going to say… and now that it’s come… I hardly know where to begin…” He paused. “The beginning, I suppose.”

Rowan ran his fingers through his auburn hair. “I’m the middle child. Petunia is a few years older, Lily is- was,” he paused, catching himself, “a few years younger. I got my Hogwarts letter first, obviously. Then Lily. We went to school together, of course. I was a badger, she was a lion, so we didn’t see each other all the time in school, but I tried my best to look out for my little sister.”

Rowan took a long sip of his coffee, to collect his thoughts… and also to keep the painful memories at bay. “She and I got bullied terribly in school, along with most of the other muggle-borns. It was the start of the War, so blood supremacist ideology was rampant. I tried to shield Lily from the worst of it, but there was only so much I could do. Thankfully, she quickly learned how to defend herself. She even helped me take on the older Slytherins from time to time. Eventually she garnered a reputation as a fierce and formidable young woman with and ironclad sense of justice. And the bullying mostly stopped. Then she and I worked together to shield the younger kids from-” Rowan realized there was so much to explain and not a lot of time to do it, and he was getting kind of lost in the weeds, so he cut to the chase.

“Anyway, we made it through school more or less in one piece. Your mother started dating James in her last few years at Hogwarts. At first I really didn’t like them being together. James was a terrible bully in his younger years. Not towards muggle-borns, mind you. It was always against Slytherins. But still. He took his pranks too far, too often. And a bully is a bully _is a bully_. And you’ll find I don’t like bullies. Uh… I’m getting off track again. Anyway, he matured. Enough I guess for Lily to find something she liked in him. And I would have been happy for them, if he didn’t pull her into the Order.”

Harry quirked his head. “Order? What Order?”

It was Rowan’s turn to quirk his head. “The Order of the Phoenix? Dumbledore’s not-so-secret society dedicated to fighting Vol-” Rowan caught himself. “You-Know-Who.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You can say his name. I’m not afraid.”

“Oh, neither am I,” Rowan said, “but back in the day there was a taboo curse on his name. I don’t know how he did it exactly, but whenever someone said it, he’d know exactly who said it and where they were. And since he’s back, I don’t know if the taboo is back. And I don’t really want him knowing I’m in the country.”

That was very useful news to Harry. Along with that second juicy piece of information. “Wait, you fought Volde- uh, _You-Know-Who_?” 

“Of course,” Rowan shrugged. “Along with pretty much every muggle-born in the country, in one way or another. Back then, you had to fight to survive.”

“So, you fought with Dumbledore?” Harry asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Rowan replied. “No, Dumbledore and I… don’t get along. We had different approaches to dealing with Death Eaters. He didn’t approve of my methods, and I didn’t approve of his.”

“I don’t get it. You both fought Death Eaters right? Why should the methods matter?”

“Harry,” Rowan sighed. “Dumbledore is… he is a great man. Even I can’t dispute that. But… how do I put this delicately,” Rowan paused. “He has nothing to lose. No real family he’s close with. And I can tell you from experience he doesn’t have ‘friends’ so much as that he has pawns he’s very fond of.”

He could tell he was starting to lose Harry. He had the same almost fanatical devotion to Dumbledore that was the undoing of his father. But nonetheless, Rowan continued, hoping he could get Dumbledore’s claws out of his nephew.

“Harry, when someone doesn’t have a stake in a fight, they aren’t obligated to care as much as someone who literally has everything they own bet on a certain outcome. Dumbledore doesn’t really have a lot of attachments to people. At least not anymore. So that allows him certain… leeway with how he dealt with Vol- uh. You-Know-Who. He could take chances, take risks, and not really lose all that much on a personal level.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Dumbledore was willing to risk the lives of those he lead to take Death Eaters alive. While Death Eaters cast the Killing Curse pretty much at the drop of a hat, Order members tossed around jelly leg jinxes. He was obsessed with delivering them to 'proper authorities' to mete out justice. And all too often palms would be greased, key evidence would ‘disappear’ or be dismissed on asinine grounds, and people I _knew for a fact_ were Death Eaters were set free with nary a slap on the wrist. People died to capture Death Eaters, only for their surviving relatives to watch their murderers go free to murder some more.” Rowan paused for effect. “While I-”

“You killed them,” Harry finished for him.

Rowan shrugged. “Sometimes. Only if I absolutely had to. Sometimes it _was_ useful to take them alive, interrogate them for all they knew, _then_ kill them. If they were actually Death Eaters, that is. Vol- You-Know-Who, liked to use the Imperious curse on innocent people to do the grunt work for him. Most of the time you could tell.”

“ _Most_ of the time?” Harry rhetorically asked, letting the implications hang in the air.

“Most of the time,” Rowan nodded. “Anyway, I fought in a loose rebellion of like-minded people devoted to stopping You-Know-Who at any and all costs. Muggle-borns, half-bloods with family they didn’t wanna lose, ex-Ministry people fed up with the blatant corruption. A lot of disparate people. A lot of disparate ideologies, a lot of arguing. But in the end people talked things out and worked together, because in the end we were all fighting for the same thing. And that discourse actually helped us a lot of the time. Our plans and strategies were constantly changing, shifting as we got new people and new ideas. It made us really hard to fight.”

Rowan paused to catch the attention of a waiter, and took the time to order lunch for them. He had a feeling they were gonna be in the café for a while.

“It was nothing like the Order of the Phoenix,” Rowan said between bites of sandwich. “Dumbledore had his followers in lock step with him. He liked to pretend things were up for debate, but it was pretty blatantly obvious that his word was law. And there's nothing he _hates_ more in this world than working with people on equal footing.”

He could tell Harry was no longer indignant. Now he was merely curious. Maybe there was hope for his nephew after all?

“We had some support from the international magical community. The group I was with, I mean. That was where I met my wife, actually. She was an American Auror working with the International Wizarding Police, sent to help coordinate our little resistance cell. Without her input we would have acted on really stupid plans and ultimately self destructed. She gave us professional input and helped keep us organized. The IWP sent similar advisors to Dumbledore. He nodded politely to the things they said, but never really listened.” Rowan paused. There he was, off in the weeds again…

“In any case, the years went by and the fighting got worse... Eventually I realized that the carnage would probably never stop. No matter how hard we fought, how many Death Eaters we put in the ground, it would never be enough. Every other Ministry employee was either a sympathizer for You-Know-Who, or an unmarked Death Eater. The government was crumbling, and the British magical community was going to burn itself to the ground. But I had an out.” Rowan took another bite of his sandwich, then continued. “That woman I met in the IWP, well, we fell in love and had a kid. That was how I was able to get MACUSA citizenship.”

“MACUSA?” Harry asked.

“Magical Congress of the United States of America. The American version of the British Ministry of Magic,” Rowan supplied. “So yeah, I was going to jump ship and move to the US with my new family. Lily called me a coward. Maybe I was. But… well, she didn’t see the things I saw. She worked mainly from Order safehouses. Don’t get me wrong, she fought often. Too often for my taste. But it was always on Order missions. They tended to be… more…” Rowan struggled with coming up with the right words. “Sanitized? I guess, is the only way I can explain it. I fought a guerilla war. I saw horror on a daily basis. The one thing I can say about the Order of the Phoenix was that they tended to be more… surgical, more precise. They had defined targets, defined missions. My friends and I, well, we were focused on keeping people safe. We shed blood, sweat, and tears to keep our loved ones alive. Anyway, I think Lily never really got how dire it was, because she never really saw the worst of hit. Piles of bodies dozens of feet high... Families digging through mass graves trying to find loved ones...”

Rowan looked off into the distance, his eyes not really focused on anything. “It was bad. However bad you think it was, the reality was probably ten times worse. There’s a reason to this day Britain has the lowest muggle-born population in the magical world…” Rowan shook his head, trying to refocus himself. "Anyway, Dumbledore drove a wedge between Lily and I."

“So… the reason I’m just meeting you now is… what? You had an argument with my mom, and didn't feel responsible for taking care of me?” Harry cried in indignant anger.

“No! Of course not," Rowan urged. "Lily and I were a little bit estranged, yes. But it wasn't as dire as the non-existent relationship I have with Tuney. It was fixable, it would have just taken time. No, the reason I wasn't able to take you in was because...” Again he looked off into the distance… “It’s because of what I did the night your parents were murdered.” 

Harry was a little more than frightened by the way his uncle’s eyes turned… cold… dead…

“I was getting ready to leave for the US with my family. I had been trying for weeks to convince Lily and James to at least let us take you with us. Eventually I got fed up with constant arguments that got us nowhere. I was going to bring you and your mother to the US, kicking and screaming if I had to. I appareted to your house in Godric’s Hollow…” Rowan had a far away look on his face, as if the memories were slipping out of his fingertips.

“I… remember seeing the second floor blown to bits. I… I ran up the stairs… and I saw my s-sister…” Rowans’ voice cracked, “J-just… laying there. I could still feel her panic, her regret, and most of all, her literally undying love for you hanging in the air...” Rowan took a deep breath. “I got… I really don’t have any words to explain just how hurt and… furious I was. All of that pain… I had to get rid of it somehow. I had to… channel it into something. I blasted what I think was the remains of You-Know-Who into oblivion. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough... Then I remembered... I knew that there were Death Eaters at the Lestrange manor, and I knew how to get in thanks to intelligence my team gathered a few weeks before.” 

Harry started. His uncle’s voice was no longer choked with anguish. It was almost military in it’s precision now, and terrifyingly devoid of emotion.

“I apparated just outside of the southern wall. There was a gap in the security wards forty-seven feet from the postern gate. I waited until 2:35 AM, when I knew there would be a shift change in the guards. I snuck through the outer wall relatively easily. And from there I didn’t even have to use a disillusionment charm once I was past the walls. The idiots were so confident of their outer security that they didn’t bother posting anyone by the manor itself. I practically waltzed into the Lestrange bedroom window. Elder Lestrange was asleep in bed. I lopped off his head with a cutting curse. And from there, I went bedroom to bedroom, killing anyone I knew-” he paused, “No, anyone I even remotely suspected of being a Death Eater died that night, sixty-eight people in total. And fifteen house elves.”

“They were trying to raise the alarm. I couldn’t let them.” Rowan said in response to Harry’s horrified expression. He knew it didn’t justify anything. 

Rowan finally stopped talking, and to Harry’s relief, he finally stopped sounding so… robotic. 

“In a fit of rage, I murdered so many… _so many_ people….” Rowan took yet another deep breath. “The only saving grace for me was that all of them turned out to be burned with the Dark Mark. I _technically_ didn’t kill anyone innocent. As if that makes it any better. Anyway, that’s why I’m not rotting in Azkaban right now. But, all that killing, my total lack of mercy or remorse… it was enough for Dumbledore to successfully lobby the Wizengamot to declare me mentally and emotionally unfit to be your guardian. I almost lost my daughter too, but my wife was able to vouch for me. In wizarding society it’s much more difficult to lose custody of a natural born child. Especially one with a duel citizenship.”

For a long, long time Harry didn’t know what to say. On one hand, he understood why his uncle did what he did. Harry was fairly certain if put in a similar position, he’d react in a similar way. But… almost seventy people murdered in their beds, without any warning, never given a chance to even raise their wands…

“There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” Harry said after a while. “Why now, out of all times, why wait until now?”

Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose. “ Honestly, I've been planning something like this for years. The only issue is that normally Dumbledore has people watching you like a hawk. You know the cat-lady who lives across your street? She's part of the Order."

Harry looked surprised. "Mrs. Figg? Really?"

Rowan nodded. "Yeah, she's a squib, actually. Dumbledore likes working with squibs. They have experience in both the magical and non-magical worlds, and most magical people tend to not notice them. The only reason she didn't squeal on me is because she owes my grandmother-in-law big time, and I was able to cash that in on a favor. Besides, she knows how awful the Dursleys were to you, and she knows I'll actually take care of you. But she's not the only one watching you. Normally there's an Order member or two under disillusionment charms lurking around your neighborhood."

"So then how did you get me out today?" Harry asked.

Rowan smirked. "Actually, ironically its because of You-Know-Who. Dumbledore has Order members scrambling around looking for any evidence of Death Eater activity they can find. Which means, watching you got relegated to a single person that I could fairly easily manipulate."

"Well..." Harry sighed. "It seems you had this all figured out for a while..."

Rowan nodded, "Like I said, I was planning something like this for years. But I only have one shot, and if I messed it up... Dumbledore is a powerful man... I don't think he'd ever stoop so low as to threaten my family... but... I honestly don't know that for sure."

Harry's heart hammered in his chest. But he felt this before. Sirius made a similar promise, one that he was ultimately unable to fulfil. Harry didn't blame him, of course. It was due to a lot of things out of his control... but still... it stung a _lot_ _._ And he didn't wanna feel that disappointment again. But then again... 


	3. Chapter 3

“Yes!” Petunia said bluntly. “Take him and his freakishness out of my house!”

Rowan was trying so hard to not punch his sister in the mouth that he thought he could literally feel the blood pooling in his brain. Instead of violently assaulting his deranged sibling, he decided to create a way to  _ hopefully _ keep the Order from figuring out his nephew left the country.

“Harry, I need a drop of your blood.” Rowan said as he took a small potions knife from his breast pocket.

“Why?”

“To keep Dumbledore from figuring out I’ve absconded with my nephew,” Rowan replied as he pricked Harry’s finger.

He collected a single drop of blood on the end of the blade, which he smeared on a thumb sized clay figurine. He carefully set the figurine on the drab carpet of the drab house, then drew his wand.

_ “Shabti,”  _ Rowan said, with a small wave of his wand. 

The small clay figure vibrated faster than Harry’s eyes could follow, then stopped suddenly. To his mild horror, the figure now looked  _ exactly _ like him, only in miniature. Then, the figurine grew, until it was exactly his exact copy.

The clay version of Harry blinked, then with a robotic stiffness walked up the stairs. He followed it, watching curiously as it retrieved his trunk and… began packing everything he wanted to take with him from the wretched house. Not only did it know where to find his favorite pair of socks, it also knew where he hid the family album Hagrid gave him. Somehow, the clay copy knew exactly where he hid his most prized possession… Hedwig hooted in alarm as the clay-Harry picked up her cage.

“It’s okay girl, I think he’s friendly,” Harry said as he followed his doppleganger back down the stairs.

Rowan was leaning up against the doorframe of the front door, patiently waiting for his clay creation to return. Petunia eyed the… creature nervously. “What is it?” she asked.

“A  _ shabti _ figure,” Rowan replied. “A little trick I picked up from an Egyptian buddy of mine. The  _ shabti _ will act more or less like Harry does, though don’t ask it any complicated questions. It’s verbal, but it’s answers will be limited. Anyway, after two weeks it’ll shrink down and you’ll have a cute little two inch clay figure to remember Harry by.”

“Wait,” Dudley said, suddenly jumping up from the couch. He liked Star Trek, but this was more important. “You’re leaving?” He asked, sounding almost sullen. “R-really leaving?”

“Yeah, Big D,” Harry smiled. “I’m really leaving.”

“Oh…” Dudley sighed. It looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know exactly how…

“Don’t worry,” Harry replied. “I’ll send a Christmas card or something.”

Rowan’s phone dinged, breaking the awkward silence. “Ah, Uber’s here. Time to go.” Rowan transfigured Hedwig’s cage into rather convincing looking carry-on luggage, and carried it to the waiting car. Harry paused, unsure of what he really wanted to do… then he hefted his trunk onto it’s broken wheels, and lugged it out the front door.

And for the first time in his life, Harry left Number Four Privet Drive, confident that he’d never, ever come back…

* * *

“Why are we at Heathrow Airport again?” Harry asked as he lugged his trunk as fast as he could, trying desperately to keep up with his uncle’s long strides.

“Because,” Rowan paused to cast a quick  _ Reparo _ on the cumbersome trunk. “I can’t legally take you out of the country through wizarding methods. I mean, I guess I could side-along apparate you, but inter-continental distances are a  _ smidge _ beyond the scope of what I can do, even on the best day. And that’s not even factoring in the ocean distance.”

“Wait, I don’t have a passport!” Harry said in hushed but frantic tones.

“Oh right,” Rowan said, almost like it was an afterthought. He pulled out a small pocket notebook. Normally it contained all his case notes for his job. His phone was magically shielded, but still sometimes freaked out a little bit in areas with high ambient magic, so he kept a physical notebook for all the really important stuff.

Which in this case meant that it was being transfigured into a perfect replica of a British passport. “Right, here you go,” Rowan said as he handed it to Harry. “By the way, what I just did was highly illegal, obviously. But we have extenuating circumstances, so morally speaking we’re fine. Kind of. But I think it goes without saying, under normal circumstances never do what I just did.”

They made it through security easily enough, though it took absolutely forever. In Rowan’s opinion, the non-magical world went a little overboard with airline security after a certain event in the early 2000’s. Nobody seemed to notice the soft hooting coming from their carry on bag, despite the increased security. Which meant it was normal to have a hooting bag… or no-maj’s were just kinda dense. Rowan suspected it was a bit of both.

As they took their seats, he noticed Harry clenching the arm rests hard enough to make his knuckles turn white. “First time flying, I imagine?” He asked.

Harry nodded nervously.

“Well, you have no reason to worry. Statistically speaking this is the safest way to travel. Well, safest non-magical way to travel, that is.” Rowan wasn’t the kind of guy to lean back on an economy flight, but today was an unusually trying day, so he gave himself a small two-degree allowance.

Harry was still gripping the armrests for dear life. It only got worse when the plane started to taxi to the runway.

Rowan sighed. “You ever fly a broom, kid?”

Harry nodded. “I’m a seeker for Gryffindor,” Harry replied.

Rowan blinked. “You’re telling me that you can straddle a literal flying broomstick and zip through the air at fifty miles an hour with no safety harness or anything while you chase down a flying golden ping-pong ball… But you’re afraid of flying in a stable aircraft with more safety features than I care to list right now?”

It took all of Harry’s willpower to unclench his fingers from the now thoroughly squished armchair upholstery. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Harry almost had a heart attack at takeoff, but once the plane was in the air he could hardly tell it was moving at all.

“So, how long will it take to get to New York?” Harry asked.

“Oh, about eight hours,” Rowan replied.

“Right…” Harry said. He was kicking himself for not having the wherewithal to take some of his textbooks out of his trunk so he could at least get a head start on summer homework.

And at that very moment somewhere very far away, a young bushy haired witch felt simultaneous exultant joy and soul crushing disappointment, though she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why…

Rowan tried to pass the time with a nap, but every time he drifted off the plane rumbled, or a passenger sneezed, or a baby cried… As exhausted as he was, he very quickly realized he wouldn’t be getting any sleep on the way home. Which meant he needed a way to kill eight hours. Then he had an idea.

His phone had more than enough charge, so he opened up his camera roll. He had hours and hours of videos of his family, hundreds of pictures to show off… He thought Harry probably deserved an idea of what he was getting into.

“So, this is your cousin Michelle…” Rowan began.

Harry spent the next couple hours learning a lot about his hitherto unknown family. Apparently his cousin went to a muggle school, while his aunt and uncle homeschooled her magical education. He learned that she was really weird, in a cool way, and that she was exceptionally smart and went to a private school for science and engineering. He didn’t even know what an Academic Decathlon was until Rowan mentioned Michelle was captain of the team. 

Apparently his aunt was the Deputy Chief Auror for New York, which was really cool. So at least Rowan meant it when he said they were uniquely qualified to prepare him for what was to come in the wizarding world. Not only did they fight in the Wizarding War, but they kept their skills sharp through their jobs as top aurors. 

“I’m actually excited to meet a cousin. Which is something I never thought I’d ever say,” Harry said, thinking of his other cousin back in Britain.

“Well, Michelle is in Europe now on a school trip. But she’ll be back in a week or so,” Rowan said.

That surprised Harry. “Wait, you… let her go to Europe? Despite all the stuff happening right now?”

Rowan shrugged, “You don’t know my daughter. She’s incredibly stubborn. I couldn’t stop her if I wanted to. But trust me, she’s safe. She’s sticking to no-maj Europe. In any case I’d be incredibly surprised if Voldemort would do anything so soon after his return. Especially with how the non-magical world is right now.”

Rowan was fairly confident he could freely say his name now. For one, they were in international waters, which was probably outside the taboo curse’s range. And even if it wasn’t, they were heading to the US, where Voldemort had negligible influence. 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, slightly confused. “Why would Voldemort fear something happening in the muggle world?”

Rowan blinked, suddenly sitting up straighter. “What do you mean ‘what do I mean’? Even in the magical world, an alien invasion is a pretty big deal.”

Harry laughed, then slowly realized... “Wait… you’re serious?”

“Kid… don’t you watch the news?” Rowan asked, more than a little shocked.

“No,” Harry replied, “the Dursley’s never let me within ten feet of the telly. And even if they did it goes fuzzy when I get close.”

Rowan was stuck doing a frighteningly accurate impression of a fish out of water for a full five minutes before he finally was able to collect his thoughts. “Okay, kid. So a lot has happened in the past couple years… Let’s get you up to speed…”

And that was how Harry learned that aliens were real. Along with superheroes. And murderous androids. And the fact that an entire country was recently wiped off the map. And how a different African country was apparently super technologically advanced. 

Rowan caught his nephew up as best he could on current events, then went on a two hour long tangent on the Avengers.

“So Tony Stark was like, literally the richest person on the planet. He had stupidly advanced armored suits that did things comparable to our greatest advances in magic,” Rowan explained as he helped Harry scroll through a ton of news articles on the Avengers.

“Whose this?” Harry asked, referring to a blurry photo of a red and blue clad figure swinging through the New York skyline.

“Oh, him?” Rowan answered, “That’s Spider-man. He’s like… New York’s patron superhero. If you ever walk around Manhattan you’re bound to see him swinging around eventually. He helps stop petty crime mostly. Rescuing cats from trees, helping little old ladies cross the street, stopping muggings, that sort of thing.”

“So, he’s like… New York’s friendly neighborhood superhero?” Harry asked.

Rowan did a noncommittal shrug. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

* * *

Harry’s first impression of New York was… it was  _ huge _ . Sure, he’d seen some big buildings in London on his way to Diagon Alley and King’s Cross Station. But they weren’t as monolithic or as densely packed as the skyscrapers they flew over on the final approach to JFK International.

He thought take-off was nerve wracking enough, but landing was downright  _ terrifying _ . Harry wasn’t proud of the high pitched squeak he made as the wheels bounced along the tarmac. Rowan seemed nonplussed though. Which made sense to Harry, seeing as he apparently regularly made use of muggle transportation.

“So, Monique brought the car. She’s waiting at the gate for us… and she’s really excited to meet you,” Rowan said after checking his phone. 

“Wait, car?” Harry asked.

“Oh yeah. I mentioned we like to live a little bit on the no-maj side, right? Anyway, I figured it would give you a chance to see a little bit of the city on our way home.”

Monique didn’t know exactly what to expect when Rowan stepped through the terminal, but what she didn’t expect to see was a borderline malnourished teenager in clothes five sizes too large for him following hot on her husband’s heels. She knew Petunia and Lily had an extremely tense relationship in the last years of Lily’s life, but she never expected Petunia to be so petty that she’d actively neglect her nephew. 

She tamped down the rage. That was for later. For now… she had a nephew to take care of. Monique tried to keep her eyes off the loose tattered clothes, and to not focus on Harry’s slightly hollow cheeks. If there was one thing she definitely knew about teenagers, it was that they had very pronounced and raw physical insecurities, and the easiest way to alienate yourself from them was to pay too close attention to them. 

“Hello, Harry. I’m Monique, though if my dumb husband did his job right, you should already know that.”

Harry was surprised at how tall his aunt was. He got a vague sense of her height from his uncle’s copious pictures and family videos, but somehow they never conveyed just how tall she really was. Rowan was easily six feet and some change, and Monique just a few inches shorter than him.

“Hi…” Harry nervously replied. He didn’t really know what else to say…

Thankfully Rowan and Monique did plenty of talking. The car ride home was full of playful jabs and blatant flirting intermixed with basic facts about New York.

“So New York is divided into five boroughs. Queens, where we live, Manhattan, Brooklyn, Bronx, and… and what’s the fifth one again?” Rowan asked Monique.

Monique rolled her eyes. “Rowie, you’ve lived in New York for fifteen years and you  _ still _ forget Staten Island?”

“Right,” Rowan nodded, “Staten Island. Remember, each of the five boroughs are equally good and important and everything. Except Queens is the best and Brooklyn could sink into the sea and nobody would ever miss it.”

Monique clicked her tongue in approval. “At least you got that right.”

Skyscrapers gave way to residential neighborhoods so fast that Harry thought they appareted the car to a different part of the city. They crossed a single bridge, and suddenly there wasn’t a skyscraper in sight.

Harry decided he liked Queens. The houses were cozy looking, and while they were packed kind of close together, they were all unique. Some were painted vibrant colors, others had porch extensions or brick patterned walls… the variation was something he highly appreciated after living most of his life in a neighborhood of carbon copied houses.

“Here we are, home sweet home,” Monique said as she pulled the car into the short driveway. 

The house wasn’t very big, but it wasn’t tiny either. It had a picket fence, extended porch and was painted a pastel kind of bluish teal that Harry found very soothing. They walked through a small garden on their way to the front door. And to Harry’s delight, there wasn’t a single flower or blade of grass in sight. Instead, the garden was full to bursting with all kinds of vegetables and herbs, with a little bird bath in the middle to tie it all together.

Stepping into the living room only made Harry fall in love with the house even more. It wasn’t messy by any means, but it wasn’t the eerie sterile perfection of the Dursley house either. It was a happy intermediate, lived in was the only way Harry could describe it. The couch was fairly nice, the leather upholstery was clean, but it was obvious the couch was used often by how worn the cushions were. And it had throw pillows, but it was obvious they were for comfort instead of decoration.

The living room had a fancy flat screen telly, much like the Dursley’s. Only for some reason it didn’t go fuzzy when he walked by. Just behind the couch, sitting snugly atop the half-wall that divided the living room from the kitchen, was a glass enclosure. Harry guessed it housed some kind of reptile, by the look of the large heating lamps clamped to its side. 

_ “Mama issss home! Mama issss home!” _ Something hissed from inside the tank.

“Oh, sounds like the snakes are hungry. Gimme a second, then I’ll give you the grand tour,” Monique said as she snuck past Harry to go digging around a freezer chest situated in the corner of the kitchen. She retrieved two frozen pink… things. Mice, Harry guessed, then defrosted them with a wave of her wand. Two snakes poked their heads from their hides, their long bodies waving up the glass to take a good look around.

“ _ Oh no… Mama sssstill gone… It’ssss Mama’sss Mama inssstead…”  _ one of the snakes hissed dejectedly. They had dark, almost black scales, with a white underbelly.

“ _ Wait… Look! New perssson! New perssson!” _ the other snake eagerly hissed. It’s fluted black scales glinted in the light of the enclosure. It had a white line along the central ridge of it’s back, flanked by two thick black lines, which in turn were flanked by two yellow stripes that blended into its underbelly scales. 

The black snake turned its head towards Harry, and gave him a withering glare. Well, as withering a glare as a foot long common black rat snake could give.  _ “Who you?” _

Harry figured it was only polite to introduce himself.  _ “My name issss Harry. What are your namessss?” _

The snakes seemed taken aback, then the garter snake happily hissed, “ _ Oh! A ssspeaker! A ssspeaker! Yay! Yay! My name issss Zzzzuko. And thisss is Zzzzilla!” _

Zilla grumbled. Or well, made the parseltongue equivalent of grumbling. “ _ No! Speakersss are rare! Sometimes mean! He is very sssussspicioussssss…” _

Zuko’s tongue flicked out, smacking Zilla’s eye. “ _ No! He’ssss not mean! Lotssssa sssspeakerss niccce! Mama isss trying to sssspeak!” _

_ “Mama isss Mama. We know Mama niccce. We no nothing of new sssspeaker.”  _ Zilla countered.

“ _ Mama’sss Mama likesss him. And Mama’sss Dada likesss him too. He musssst be nice. Hello Harry. We be friendssss!”  _ Zuko hissed.

Zilla wasn’t so easily convinced. “ _ I dunno. If you be mean to Mama or be mean to Mama’ssss Mama or be mean to Mama’ssss Dada… I will eat you! If you nicccce… then maybe we be friendssss…” _

Well, that was the best Harry could hope for, he supposed. He watched the two snakes take their pink offerings and pull them into their hides, presumably so they could consume their lunch in private.

“Oh that’s right,” Rowan said after taking a second to recover from his shock. “You’re a Parseltongue.”

Monique smiled, “Well, Harry, I suppose you’ve already introduced yourself to Zuko and Zilla. They had good things to say, I hope?”

Harry shrugged. “Zuko is sweet. Zilla is…”

“A little troublemaker,” Rowan finished for him. “The brat has bitten me on more than one occasion. Do you know rat snakes chew when they bite you? It hurts like a bitch.”

“Oh hush!” Monique said, slapping her husband's arm. “He’s just a little territorial. And very protective of Michelle. There’s nothing wrong with that. Anyway, it’s good that you’re so fluent in Parseltongue. Michelle has been trying to learn for ages. Maybe it’ll help having a human tutor around.”

Harry shrugged, “Well, I’m a natural Parseltongue. I don’t even realize I’m speaking it half the time. I don’t know how helpful I’ll be for someone trying to learn from scratch.”

Harry’s carry-on hooted impatiently. His eyes widened. “Oh! Hedwig, sorry girl… Uh…”

“Oh right,” Rowan said as he drew his wand. He forgot Harry wouldn’t be able to legally do magic outside of school for a few years. Luckily that was something they’d be able to fix relatively easily. Rowan waved his wand, and the carry-on reformed into Hedwig’s cage.

“Okay, I hate to immediately go to sleep like an old ass man, but I’ve been awake for  _ ages _ ,” Rowan said, before trundling upstairs to bed.

Monique halfheartedly waved him off. She was much more concerned with the distraught looking snowy owl in the cage. “Oh poor baby!” Monique cried. 

“Have you been in that for the entire flight? Oh sweetie, come on, it’s okay…” Monique coaxed Hedwig onto her arm. 

“Oh sweetie birdie… Lemme getcha something to eat. Unfortunately we only have pinkie mice… Will that tide you over until we get you some nice juicy rats?”

Hedwig swallowed half a dozen thawed pink mice before she was sated. Which was fine, they had hundreds in the freezer. Meanwhile, Harry took the opportunity to take a closer look around. There were plenty of family photos lining the walls. Some were moving, obviously taken with a wizarding camera, but most were still muggle pictures. Most of them were of Michelle at various stages in life. They were all surprisingly… normal. In some of them she posed in sports teams she must have belonged to in childhood. A few of them were of what he assumed was the academic decathlon team. The biggest and most proudly displayed was a photo of her holding a trophy aloft, while her team cheered around her.

“Well, Harry, I think your owl is finally full,” Monique said. Hedwig hooted appreciatively, and bobbed her head. “What’s their name?” Monique asked.

“She’s Hedwig,” Harry replied.

“Oh, what a pretty name for a pretty birdie,” Monique said as she stroked the snowy owl’s head. “Well Harry, let’s get you settled in, then I’ll fix us dinner. I think Rowie’s probably out for the count, so it’ll probably just be us at the dinner table.”

Monique led him up the stairs. “That’s our room,” Monique said, gesturing to a room to the right. “If you need us for anything in the middle of the night, don’t hesitate to knock… Unless the doorknob is glowing blue. That’s kind of like our uh… do you know what a sock on the doorknob means?”

Harry turned an amusing shade of tomato red, as he nodded awkwardly. 

“Good. Michelle had to learn the hard way. Anyway, this is the bathroom, which you and Michelle will be sharing.” Monique opened the door, only to immediately slam it shut.

“Good lord it’s filthy…” She said under her breath. “Okay, Harry, I’m gonna clean this bathroom for you. It’s your job to trash it again so that Michelle can clean it when she gets back.”

She continued down the hall. “This is Michelle’s room. I’m not gonna show you what’s inside, because A: I’m afraid of what I’ll find in there, if the bathroom is any indication, and B: we’re a family that values privacy. In general, we don’t go into anyone's room without permission. Knock, wait for verbal response, then let the occupant open the door for you. And in general, don’t go in someone’s room when they aren’t home. Don’t worry, we’ll extend the same courtesy to you.”

That was something new to Harry. The Dursleys burst in his room whenever they wished. Most of the time they locked him inside like a prisoner, and only let him out in meal times or to do chores.

Monique continued down the hallway. “Well, this is the guest room. Which from now until whenever you choose to go out on your own, will now be yours.”

Harry really, really liked the sound of that. The room itself wasn’t decorated at all, but had all the furnishings he’d need. A few empty bookshelves, a full sized closet, a writing desk, a perch post in the corner for Hedwig, and a really nice full size bed. 

“Well, Harry, I’ll let you get settled in. Dinner should be ready in an hour or two.” Monique gently set Hedwig on the perch post, then left Harry with his thoughts.

The monotonous work of unpacking his trunk also let him unpack his thoughts. There was so much to take in in such a short amount of time. He woke up this morning from a fitful sleep, soul weighed down by the fact that he’d have to suffer another summer at the Dursleys. But now, less than a day later, everything was different. The family that took him in was stable, happy… loving in a way he’d only seen in the Weasleys. But with them he only got that second hand. As loving and accepting as the Weasleys were, he always considered himself an outside observer to a normal family. Now he was about to  _ actually  _ be a part of one, and it made him feel… free.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Little Hangleton Graveyard_ **

**_Late Spring, 2018_ **

A small shriveled… thing whimpered as it tumbled a few feet from the arms of it’s cowardly servant into a cauldron of simmering potion. The disgusting, curdled chunks within soothed the creatures paper-like skin, the disgusting texture also offering rejuvenating nutrients and healing energies. Gradually, the frail being swimming in the viscous liquid took on new shape and form. Firstly, it took on mass, going from a scant few pounds to a full adult weight in a few short seconds. Then, that amorphous blob of flesh took on the shape of a person, forming limbs and organs, skin and tissue. Until finally, a fully formed human erupted from the bubbling brew.

Tom Marvolo Riddle groaned as he stretched his now lithe and fully formed limbs. It felt so good to be in a proper body again. For the past several years he had been inhabiting a newborn his spirit had possessed. The muggle mother sobbed and wailed as the soft plump flesh of her sweet baby boy withered away into naught but a small sack of wrinkly skin and brittle bones. An adult spirit was much too powerful for a baby’s frail body to endure for long, after all. And Tom’s spirit was stronger than most, so the baby really had no chance. He actually felt really bad about that… but there really wasn’t anything else he could do to stave off the cold, steely grip of death itself.

In any case, his spirit kept the body barely functional. And for years, he existed in a body that was little more than an overgrown aborted fetus. It was terrible, for a myriad of reasons. For one, he couldn't do anything for himself. He couldn’t feed himself, or move and… he had to suffer the humiliation of frequent diaper changes! Secondly he had to live with a muggle family that could do nothing but despair about their terminally ill child. Thankfully, eventually Peter 'Wormtail' Pettigrew was able to find him and abscond with him in the middle of the night. And that finally, _finally_ allowed him to put some kind of plan in motion.

It was hard to truly communicate his wishes to his lackeys. For one, his soft pallet and underdeveloped vocal cords made verbal communication impossible, and that was before they began to rot away. He resorted to writing his orders out in soft sand and dust because his hands couldn't grasp a quill, and any other writing medium would be too rough for his flimsy skin. That made it very difficult to convey the fine details of his plan, which forced Barty and Peter to... improvise a little bit. What they came up with was extremely convoluted, but it did work in eventually getting Harry to him.

“P-peter-” he rasped, before erupting in a fit of coughs. Hm, it seemed some of the oily liquid of the potion had stuck itself in his new vocal cords. He took the time to clear his throat, then tried again. “Peter, _ahem_ my wand, if you would?”

A short, portly, and disturbingly rat like man shuffled forward, gingerly holding the stump of his arm. His hand shook so terribly he almost dropped the bone-white yew wand. But thankfully, Tom caught it rather easily.

“Thank you,” Tom said in a clipped tone. 

A lazy wave of the wand vanished the goo and clothed his form in a loose black robe. He stepped out of the cauldron and took the time to admire his new limbs. Aside from the fact the skin was almost translucent, they looked just as good as ever. He felt the need to view his face, for something felt… off.

He transfigured the grimy pewter cauldron into a pristine shining mirror. One glance into the reflective surface, and he regretted that decision. “What happened to my nose!”

And almost just as distressing to him was the fact that he was totally bald. Not a single hair follicle in sight. He grumbled to himself. “Well, that's what I get for using an experimental necromantic ritual, I suppose. No matter.”

He waved his wand and casted a powerful glamour over himself. And in literally the blink of an eye, he was looking as dashing and handsome as the day he graduated from Hogwarts. Smouldering grey eyes, check. Chiseled jaw, check. Romanesque nose, check. Perfectly combed luscious locks, check. Shining pristine teeth, check. If someone were to go to touch his face or hair, the illusion would become immediately obvious. But until he figured out a way to truly restore his handsome features, it would have to do.

A soft whimper caught his attention. Peter was still clutching the stump of his wrist, a rather large stream of blood dripping from the recently severed flesh. “Oh, right. Can’t have you keeling over from blood loss, now can we? Now, what to do…”

He looked around for decent material, then remembered the shining pewter mirror he just made. “Oh, that’ll do nicely.” One wave of his wand, and a clipped and brutal sounding Norse incantation later, and the mirror turned into Peter Pettigrew’s had a nice, shiny new hand. Literally. It looked like liquid mercury. 

“Oh… Oh thank you milord! Thank you!” The rotund rat man got on his knees and raised his new hand in exultation.

The immediate task at… hand… completed, Tom’s mind swum with plans and preparations… Until another simpering sound distracted him.

“What now, Pettigrew?” Tom said, as he turned impatiently, only to start in surprise from the intense emerald gaze of the teenager trapped by the arms of a skeletal statue. “Oh, Harry! My sincerest apologies. I must admit, I forgot you were here. Hm… I have pressing matters to attend to… and you can’t be privy to them… but I also want to savor killing you so… so sorry about this, but I’m going to have to ask you to have some patience.”

"Wormtail, your arm, if you will?” Tom said as he pressed the tip of his wand into the Dark Mark burned into the rat man’s arm.

He considered summoning his followers through the usual means, Dark Mark in the sky and all that. But the night sky was devoid of clouds, and it would be a bother to conjure enough to form the skull with the snake slithering from the jaws… Plus, it was just him, Harry, and Wormtail in the graveyard. It wouldn’t be worth it seeing as there wasn’t a crowd to wow… or terrify. 

So instead, he sent a psychic message to all his free followers to please at their earliest convenience apparate to his location. And lo and behold, a few scant seconds later, a series of staccato pops echoed of the surrounding hills. 

He stood surrounded by what few followers he had that still roamed free. There were only four, which was… immensely disappointing. At least they gave him the courtesy of appearing in the signature black robes and individualized metal skull masks.

“I think it's fitting we meet again, after thirteen years,” Tom began. “In ignorant muggle superstition, the number thirteen is considered extremely unlucky. But we all know better. In our world, the number thirteen holds immense power.”

Tom paced the ring of Death Eaters as he orated. “Standing before you all, I must admit I am… disappointed. How many of you, I wonder, quietly celebrated my disappearance-”

“Not me, my lord!” the masked form of Macnair cut in. “Never me.”

Tom blinked. Well, now he knew for sure. “Quite…” he paused to collect his thoughts, then continued. “Now, I must ask the question burning in the forefront of my mind. Why had none of you come to find me, until this very moment?”

“My lord, if there had been a single hint or whisper of your whereabouts-” Lucius began, his mask magically distorting his voice. 

Tom cut him off. “Please don’t patronize me. There were a myriad of hints, and much more than whispers.” He turned to Peter. “Peter returned, and for that I am very grateful. Though, that gratitude is soured some by the knowledge that he returned out of fear instead of loyalty...”

The dark lord paced as he talked. “Which makes me wonder. What is loyalty, if not a bit of fear-” He stopped suddenly, for his foot brushed against the face of someone lying on the ground.

“Wormtail, who is this?”

“M-milord… the other boy, another Triwizard competitor… he a-accidentally got portkeyed here along with Harry….”

“I gathered that,” Tom growled. “Why is he dead.”

Wormtail simpered, “He r-r-raised his wand against me and I-I-I-”

Tom rubbed his temples. “You got spooked and you killed him.” Tom sighed. “Of course you did…”

He turned to his supporters. “What was the boy’s name?”

“Cedric Diggory,” Lucius replied.

“Cedric…” Tom said. “Hm… Triwizard competitor, you say? Did he do well?”

Lucius nodded. “Very well. If the tournament wasn’t sabotaged, I dare say he would have won.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Really now? Well, what a shame… what a waste…” Tom turned. “Peter?”

“Y-yes m-m-m-” He didn’t get to finish stuttering out his sentence. 

“ _Avada Kedavra.”_ A green flash burned into the corneas of everyone in attendance, and Peter Pettigrew dropped dead.

Tom waved his wand, and Peter’s body went up in flames. The magical fire burned his remains away in mere moments, and a conjured gust of wind scattered the ashes.

“You know,” Tom addressed the shocked Death Eaters, “one of my greatest regrets with how we handled the first war was the indiscriminate killing. Oh yes, we told ourselves we were purging our country of muck-veined filth. But there was plenty of pure blood mixed into the mud. That won’t happen again, do you understand?”

The surviving four nodded profusely. Privately, they might have disagreed with the sentiment. Blood traitors deserved no mercy. But none of them wanted to go the way of Peter.

And now Tom’s mood was ruined. He planned on murdering Potter tonight, but that idea was soured now. Besides, the half-trained boy would hardly be a decent challenge. No, no, 'twas a poor fisherman who caught and kept the small fry. Better to release him, and let him grow into an opponent worthy of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Tom jabbed his wand at the statue clutching Potter. The statue released him, allowing him to tumble to the ground.

“Well, Harry. Today is your lucky day. I’m letting you go free.” Tom levitated both the Triwizard Cup and Cedric’s body, and gently laid both at Harry’s feet. “Be a good lad and see to it that your friend gets properly laid to rest will you?”

Harry stared at him like a deer in headlights for a scant few seconds, then dove for the cup and Cedric’s body like his life depended on it. Tom didn’t know why he was so desperate, he thought he made himself pretty clear that he wasn’t going to hurt him. But nevertheless, Harry, the cup, and Cedric's body all disappeared in a brief flash of whirling light. 

“Was that wise, milord?” Lucius asked in disbelief.

“Perhaps, perhaps not?” Tom shrugged. “We shall see.”

* * *

The following days were a whirlwind of activity for Tom. First he had to move in with the Malfoys. He contemplated staying at the Riddle House, but that would be a mistake. Dumbledore knew his origins, and while that wouldn’t be the first place he’d look for him, it wouldn’t be very low on the list.

So, he got to live it up in the most over-the-top luxurious magical manor house in the British Isle. The only thing he disliked was the abundance of peacocks on the grounds. Their calls were pleasant enough… but very annoying in the early hours of the morning.

One thing he immensely enjoyed was the idolization from the youngest Malfoy. Lucius was a loyal supporter, so he got plenty of respect from him. But his son treated him like a veritable celebrity.

“Your breakfast, milord,” Draco said.

Tom had commandeered Lucius’s solar, the work desk now covered in dozens of magical newspapers. Draco struggled to find an empty spot, but eventually he got the tray on the desk. 

“You do have house elves, don’t you?” Tom said, bemused.

Draco looked very nervous. “I-well… er… It is an honour to serve you, milord. An honour that lowly house elves do not deserve.”

“Quite,” Tom said as he took a sip of tea. “Well, perhaps you can be of actual service to me. Pop over to the Ministry archive library and bring me as many muggle newspapers as you can. Start from, oh, five years ago to the most current papers available. Go through them and make notes on anything interesting. Focus on wars, technological achievements, political upheavals, those sorts of things.”

Lucius was off at the Ministry today, working hard to discredit Dumbledore as much as possible. As such, Tom needed someone to help him do some of the grunt work. And what better person to help him with mostly useless busywork than a student?

On one hand, Draco was immensely excited to serve the Dark Lord. On the other hand, he was essentially asked to do current events homework. Oh well, at least he was being useful…

Tom knew it would take a while for Draco to compile and condense years of print media. So to pass the time, Tom got down to the brass tax of budgeting his revolution, and making a general outline of his plans.

Lucius was generous enough to lend him several hundred million galleons. Tom was reasonably certain that if he asked, Lucius would have given him the entire contents of this two dozen Gringotts vaults. But, he was a gracious Dark Lord, so he only asked for and accepted the minimum for what he needed.

As far as his plans were concerned, well. He supposed the first thing he’d have to do is break out the dozens of followers rotting in Azkaban. Then, it would probably be prudent to expand his list of allies. The vampires and hags of Britain stood with him before, it was reasonable to assume they would again. He hadn’t had much luck with courting the werewolves in the past, but the recent invention of the Wolfsbane Potion might give him leverage he didn't have last time. He had another potential ally in the giants. They were slow witted and violent, but also nigh unkillable with magic, which made them invaluable to his cause.

Those were only domestic allies though. He long ago realized that one of his mistakes with his first attempt at dominating the wizarding world was that he didn’t make many inroads outside of Britain. And there were plenty of disposed groups outside of the British Isles that he could take advantage of. He spent the next few hours studying up on foreign magical cultures that might be willing to join him. Which was actually a very enlightening experience for him. One of Hogwarts’s biggest failings in education was the lack of classes on other magical cultures, at least in his opinion.

He spent so long in his own realm of study he hardly noticed night fall. But as he lit candles to continue his reading, he realized he should have gotten something back from Draco by now. Wondering why it was taking so long, he made his way through the labyrinthine manor to Draco’s study. He found the boy diligently pouring over a stack of newspapers a foot taller than he was.

“Draco, you don’t have to go through it with a fine toothed comb. Just take broad stroke notes of the interesting things.” Tom said, exasperated. Did Hogwarts no longer teach how to take effective notes now?

“Oh, I am, milord,” Draco said, then finished his cup of tea. He added the now empty cup to a stack ten high. “But truly, there are very many interesting things to take notes on.”

“Well, let me see what you have so far,” Tom said.

There was a long pause as he stared at the various bullet points scribbled on the parchment. “Draco, you didn’t get tabloids did you?”

“No milord… Well, I don’t think I did. I thought the _Daily Mail_ was at least somewhat credible?”

Tom rolled his eyes. The _Daily Mail_ was a sensationalist rag, but even they wouldn’t print nonsense like alien invasions. Though, he had been gone for quite a while. Perhaps the publication had gotten even more disreputable?

He fished through the massive pile of newsprint for something more reliable. Ah, _New York Times_ should offer something substantial.

When he read _Aliens Invade Manhattan_ on the front page, he thought that couldn’t possibly be right.

But, to his absolute shock and horror, _every_ news source reported vaguely the same things. Aliens invaded New York… _twice,_ and both times were repelled by muggles with extraordinary powers and technology. Intelligent robots making a bid for world domination that led to a small eastern European country being wiped off the map. Norse gods, muggles in flying metal suits, an unkillable green titan... It was all too fantastical to believe, but unless every news source in the muggle world collectively lost their minds… it was all true.

“Draco, keep up the good work,” Tom said as he took the stack of notes Draco already completed.

Tom read the notes with increasing anxiety. This changed everything. He might as well throw his plans in the fireplace and start from scratch. He never really put much thought into how he was going to conquer the muggle world after he reigned supreme over the magical. Yes, they had dangerous technologies, nuclear fission immediately came to mind as an example. 

But, he was always confident his agents could infiltrate some world governments, sow enough discord, and eventually they’d wipe each other out without him having to raise his wand. That idea was out the proverbial window. He had no idea what kind of technology they reverse engineered from interstellar space aliens, for one.

Secondly, now that they had some idea of supernatural forces… well, his element of surprise wasn’t totally out of the window yet, but it certainly wasn’t as big of an advantage as before. He truly had no idea what to do next… luckily for him, Draco found something interesting.

“Look at this, milord,” Draco said as he passed him one of the more recent papers. It was dated just a few weeks ago, in fact. “Apparently the Avengers are down a few members as of late…”

“Well, its… certainly some good news that by far the biggest muggle threat to my burgeoning regime is somewhat weakened, but I otherwise don’t follow,” Tom said as he read an article detailing the death of Tony Stark and the permanent retirement of several other Avengers.

“Milord, if you’d indulge me… I may have an idea,” Draco said, nervously tapping his quill.

Tom listened as Draco outline _the_ most… stupid, asinine, over-the-top, convoluted plan he’d ever heard in his entire life. And it was absolutely perfect. For in this topsy turvy new world he found himself, the only plan that had a snowball’s chance in hell of working had to be equally as fantastical as space aliens and Norse gods.

* * *

**_Ixtenco, Mexico_ **

**_Early Summer, 2018_ **

Lucius was intensely proud of his son for coming up with a plan the Dark Lord regarded so highly. That being said, he’d rather it didn’t involve him baking alive in the hot sun, standing in the middle of a Mexican desert.

But, truthfully the list of cities they could use to execute his plan was rather sparse. Aztlan, the magical government of Mexico and Central America, had zero jurisdiction here thanks to ancient tribal disputes. Which meant they could enact their plan without worrying about interference from magical law enforcement. 

_“Lucius, now is the time,”_ the Dark Lord’s voice whispered in his mind. He nodded to his four compatriots, and together they began to cast a massive elemental manipulation charm. They whipped their wands around their heads, not unlike someone winding up to throw a lasso. The dust and sand around them formed into a massive cyclone. But, that wouldn’t be enough for the effect they wanted. His comrades collectively had to work together to form the dust tornado, while he shaped it.

He gave it the vague form of a humanoid, two arms, two legs, and a terrifying demonic visage. Once that was complete, he sent it towards the city. Church bells rang in alarm as the titanic cyclone descended upon it. The quaint little town didn’t stand a chance. The screams of muggles was music to Lucius’s ears as their pathetic dwellings were raised to the ground.

A few hours later Tom stood with his followers on a cliff overlooking the destruction. “Very good work, gentlemen.”

He adjusted the cape hanging from his shoulders. His ‘armor’ was necessary for the plan, golden metal plates with glowing blue elements interspersed throughout. A misty fishbowl helmet completed the look. It was extremely ostentatious, and honestly, rather stupid looking. But he supposed that would be what a displaced interdimensional mystic warrior would wear.

“Ah, right on time,” he said, as an unmarked black muggle automobile sped into the ruins. “Alright, people… Showtime,” he said with a smirk as the fishbowl helmet rematerialized around his head. 

He leapt from the cliff, flying on a cloud of glowing green vapor. He was one of the very few magical people who possessed the ability of unassisted magical flight, which came in handy because if he was to go through this plan without seriously alerting international magical authorities, he’d have to do a lot of complex magic without the aid of his wand.

Thankfully, Lucius lent him a pair of enchanted bracers that acted as rudimentary magical foci. They weren’t nearly as precise as his wand, but more than adequate for generating harmless green beams of magical light. Unfortunately they didn’t do any damage whatsoever, so his allies puppetting the earth golem had to make it look like it was taking serious hits.

After a brief but intense ‘fight’, he ‘destroyed’ the golem, allowing the muggles hiding behind the wreckage of their vehicle to peek their heads out.

“Who the hell are you, and what in God’s name was that?” Nick Fury yelled.

Tom winced, feigning injury as he limped over. “I-I’m Quentin Beck. And there's so much to explain...” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... that happened. So I wanted to explain some stuff, in regards with the direction I'm taking this. For one, I really dislike canon Voldemort as a villain. The guy is evil for evil's sake, to the point where he does a lot of stupid things. That kind of Voldemort really cannot function in the MCU. To make him an actually compelling and threatening villain, I had to take a lot of liberties. For one, his personality is drastically different. I'm trying to make him likeable, but also threatening. Secondly, I'd like to think I wrote him a little more logical than he was in the source material. 
> 
> Now, in regards to Mysterio. I actually really like what the MCU did with him in terms of his abilities. The only thing I really dislike is his motivations. I really dislike how Tony Stark keeps hijacking Peter's movies. Now, that being said, I'm very well aware that I basically did the same thing, shoehorning in Harry Potter stuff into his story. But like. It's okay when I do it ;P


	5. Chapter 5

MJ shuffled her way down the cramped airline aisle. She paused, wondering why Ned and Peter were whispering about something. Her heart skipped a beat as Ned got up and took a seat a few rows down, right next to Betty, where Michelle was supposed to sit.

Leaving her free to sit with her crush… A few more seconds of hesitation and she decided, yes, she was gonna go for it. 

“Hey, so uh… everywhere else is full. Mind if I…” MJ trailed off awkwardly.

“Oh, sure!” Peter said, poorly disguising his excitement. Ever the gentleman, he helped her secure her carry-on in the overhead compartment.

“Hey Parker!” Flash shouted from just inside the first class divider. “This is called an airplane. It’s like the busses you’re used to, except it flies  _ over _ the poor neighborhoods, instead of driving through them.”

MJ’s eye twitched. She really,  _ really _ hated how Flash constantly picked on her crush. “Eugene, nobody  _ really _ likes you, you know? People only pretend to be your friend because you’re filthy stinking rich.”

That wiped Flash’s stupid smirk of his face… And replaced it with the emotionless dead stare. Wordlessly, he shuffled into the luxury first class compartment. Oh man. She wanted to put Flash in his place, not shatter his entire sense of self worth.

“Dammit, I think I cut a little too close to the bone with that one,” MJ sighed.

Peter winced, “Yeah… I appreciate you coming to my defense, but uh…”

“I’ll apologize after the flight,” MJ said.

Speaking of flight, it wasn’t long before they were up in the air. “So uh,” MJ awkwardly tried to start a conversation. “A ten hour flight do you mind if I…” She pulled her iPad out of her bag.

“Oh, hey, uh.. Well, I have this,” Peter said as he retrieved his precious dual headphone adapter from his pocket.

MJ smiled, “Oh cool! It’s a good thing I got an older model iPad that still has a headphone jack.”

Said iPad had a huge library of movies and documentaries downloaded on it. Some of them were legally obtained, but most weren’t. Unfortunately, she was fairly certain most of what she had was  _ way _ outside of Peter’s interests. It was nothing but a sea of b-movies, cult classics, auteur and indie films as far as the eye could see. 

“Oh hey, uh, can we watch this?” Peter asked as he tapped on  _ Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! _

Peter didn’t really know what it was about. He only recognized the title because apparently that was the movie Uncle Ben and Aunt May watched on their first date. He hoped it wasn’t an adult film or anything. He didn’t think Uncle Ben would be the kind of guy to take a girl to see  _ one of those _ kinds of movies on a first date… but knowing how flirty they were as a couple, he couldn’t be sure… Especially with a title like that.

“Oh, sure!” MJ said, much to Peter’s relief. “It’s actually one of my favorites.”

MJ started the movie, and what followed was a story of sex, violence, weird line deliveries, and an uncanny amount of vehicular manslaughter. MJ was the kind of person who talked a  _ little _ bit during movies. But she mostly kept it to short quick jokes based on the movie. And to her delight, Peter joined her in riffing it. MJ hadn’t laughed that much in a long time.

The movie killed one hour and twenty-three minutes of a ten hour flight. So, they chose another movie, and another, and another. The entire time they were in the air, they were producing commentary worthy of  _ Mystery Science Theater 3000 _ . Okay, maybe not that great, but MJ thought they were pretty funny.

They landed in Venice in the early afternoon. The boat ride to their hotel was cool enough, but the boat looked a little run down. That should have tipped MJ off to the quality of the hotel they were staying at. They arrived to find a dingy motel with a flooded lobby and gross moldy smell. 

“Oh man,” MJ muttered when she and Betty entered their shared room. It wasn’t the worst hotel room MJ could imagine, but it was distressingly close. She really wanted to cast  _ Scourgify _ while Betty was in the bathroom or something. But the room being suddenly much cleaner in such a short time would be suspicious.

So instead, she dropped off her bags and went off to explore the city with her class.

“Bow to the Pidgeon Queen!” MJ laughed. Half a dozen of the rats with wings were perched on her arms and shoulders, and Peter was making sure to get plenty of pictures.

She wanted to continue exploring the city with him, but for some reason he wanted to visit a glass shop on his own. That was fine by her. That gave MJ ample time to drink four… no, make that five, cups of espresso.

MJ watched Peter leave the shop with a small bag in hand. She ducked into a nearby bookshop so she could ambush him.

“Boh!” She said jovially.

“What?” Peter asked.

“Boh! It’s the most perfect word in the world. The Italians created it and I just discovered it,” MJ replied.

“What does it mean?” Peter asked as they walked along the canal together.

MJ shrugged. “That’s the thing. It can mean a million things. ‘I dunno’, ‘get out of my face’, ‘I dunno  _ and _ get out of my face’. It’s the best thing Italy ever created except for maybe espresso.”

“Oh, so you’ve been drinking espresso,” Peter replied. 

MJ shrugged, “Maybe a little…” Oh boy, she was starting to get the caffeine jitters big time. “Uh, maybe a lot.”

They were stopped by a man peddling cheap roses. All it took was MJ uttering ‘boh’ for her to ward him off.

“Wow,” Peter said, impressed.

“Boh is my new superpower. It’s like the anti-aloha. I was born to say this word.” MJ glanced down. “So what’s in the bag?”

“Oh… uh, boh.” Peter replied, with a smirk.

MJ nodded appreciatively. “Nice.”

They continued down the canal for a bit, then MJ stopped in her tracks.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked.

“I… dunno…” MJ said as she looked around. 

MJ was getting a… feeling. She thought it had something to do with the water. Her ability to sense magic wasn’t nearly as refined as her dad’s, so whatever it was, it had to be big to get on her radar. She got her answer a few seconds later. The water of the canal swirled unnaturally, before exploding into a massive tidal wave.

MJ stood frozen in shock as a gondola carrying Ned and Betty sailed right towards her. Luckily Peter was there to tackle her out of the way. Peter laid over her body protectively as the gondola crashed into the nearby wall. 

“Get up! Get up! Come on we gotta go!” Peter urged as he pulled a shell shocked MJ to her feet.

The tidal wave collapsed back into the canal, and formed into a massive water… giant… titan… thing. It battered the shops and homes lining the canal, capsizing boats and gondolas as it rampaged. Thankfully, it was rampaging away from them, giving the teens time to escape.

Luckily Ned and Betty were shaken, but otherwise unhurt. She and Betty took off, Ned following a few seconds behind them. It was only when they made it to the rest of their class that MJ realized Peter was nowhere to be found.

“No, no, no,” MJ muttered as she got a glimpse of a familiar blue plaid shirt swinging through the air.

* * *

The four Death Eaters, camouflaged by disillusionment charms, crouched on rooftops at strategic points along the canal as they puppeteered the creature. ‘Quentin Beck’ AKA Tom Riddle let his followers have their fun as the water golem continued its path of destruction. That is, until he saw his target. Or at least, what he assumed was his target.

A boy in a cheap jester mask swung from rooftop to rooftop around the golem, trying in vain to contain it with webs shot from his wrists. That had to be him… Spider-man.

Tom had to admit, he was a little bit disappointed when Fury told him the only Avenger he had a chance of contacting was the young web slinging teenager. He wanted to see someone like War Machine or the Hulk fight first hand. But, unfortunately pretty much every Avenger was either off-world (a concept which still baffled him) or retired. 

Eventually Tom decided it was time to get involved. He apparated himself to a point a couple hundred feet above the golem, reappearing in a cloud of glowing green vapor. He flew into the fray, trailing green smoke as he went. Now came the difficult part. He had to seriously make it look like he was fighting this thing, even though all he could really do was fly around and make harmless green smoke and light.

It was a delicate dance that he and his followers had spent the last night rehearsing. As a giant water hand smacked into him and sent him careening into a boat, he thought maybe they should have spent a  _ little _ more time on the choreography.

_ “Ow… alright… who lost focus?”  _ Tom accused over the psychic connection.

_ “Deeply sorry m'lud,” _ Crabbe sent back. 

This was a very difficult feat they were trying to do with just four people. Actually, it was more like three. Macnair and Lucius were more than competent with elemental manipulation magic. Crabbe and Goyle, though… not so much. Unfortunately he didn’t have anyone else to rely on. He had no idea who Severus  _ really _ worked for, Karkaroff was a traitor who they recently killed, and Bary Crouch Jr. got himself captured and Kissed by dementors.

So Tom got battered around  _ a lot _ . But, he supposed that just made it look all the more realistic. Though he was certain he was going to feel some of those hits in the morning. Thankfully Macnair and Lucius were pulling their weight when it came to making the water golem react to getting hit by his otherwise harmless green smoke and light beams. 

“Excuse me sir!” someone yelled from behind him. “I can help! Lemme help! Er, I’m really strong… and sticky!”

Tom turned, to see the boy he assumed to be Spider-Man waving frantically to get his attention.

Instead of laughing, which he was trying really hard not to do, Tom replied. “I need to lead it away from the canals!” And flew off in a cloud of green smoke.

Peter tried to follow him as best he could, but he got slowed down by trying to web up buildings to keep them from collapsing onto people scrambling below them. Tom was somewhat impressed by the boy’s strength and selfless acts of heroism, but there wasn’t time to admire the boy’s handiwork.

Just as they planned, the water golem chased him into a nearby courtyard, where he continued to ‘battle’ it. He saw Spider-Man futzing around with a collapsing bell tower out of the corner of his eye. 

_ “I think that’s enough, gentlemen. Let’s ‘defeat’ this monster,” _ Tom told his followers.

The enchanted bracers generated two plumes of smoke that he used to ‘pull apart’ the water golem. His followers took that as their queue to dispel the creature, and the resultant shockwave caused the tower Spider-Man was trying so hard to keep upright to finally fall into the canal. At the very least he could be proud of the fact that he held it up long enough for the people cowering under it to get away in time.

Tom landed in the middle of the courtyard to the cheers of a bunch of teenagers huddled under a half collapsed awning. One of them, a girl who looked vaguely familiar to Tom, didn’t cheer. Instead, she stared with suspicion. Tom saluted the cheering kids, then flew away trailing a plume of smoke.

* * *

Tom paced around Fury’s makeshift base as he waited for Fury to return. So many muggles with so many firearms made him nervous. Though, he was a decent enough actor to keep the anxiety from outwardly showing, aside from the pacing.

Eventually Fury returned, Spider-Man in tow. Tom had to admit, the boy looked far more imposing in his suit. An effect somewhat ruined when Fury had him take off his mask to reveal his baby face. 

Fury did a short round of introductions, before finally getting to him. “And this is Mr. Beck.”

Peter blinked in shock. “Mysterio?”

“What?” Tom replied.

“Nothing, it’s just something my classmates started calling you,” Peter said as he approached.

“Well, you can call me Quentin,” Tom said as he shook the boy’s hand. “You handled yourself well out there today. I saw what you did with the tower. We could have used someone like you back on my world.”

It took Peter a second to digest what he said. “Wait, your world?”

“Mr. Beck is from Earth… just not this one,” Fury cut in.

“There are multiple realities, Peter,” Tom continued. “This is Earth-616. I’m from Earth-833.”

Peter spouted off a bunch of science terms and theories Tom admitted he really didn’t understand. Peter seemed to realize he was rambling and stopped himself mid-sentence. “S-sorry. It’s just… really cool.”

“Don’t ever apologize for being the smartest one in the room,” Tom said. He knew a little bit of ego stroking would go a long way in cementing Peter’s trust in him. Though… that being said, the boy already seemed to naively trust him implicitly.

Tom launched into an explanation of the ‘Elementals’. It was something Draco had fabricated apparently entirely off the top of his head. Tom didn’t believe that for a second. The boy probably had a secret love of muggle fiction. Tom couldn’t fault him at all for it, since it apparently gave him the creativity to come up with a ridiculously fantastical story that for some reason, nobody seemed to question. 

Maybe it was the fact that they already dealt with two alien invasions, but people seemed entirely too ready to believe a story about elemental creatures born out of black holes that have been terrorizing humanity throughout the ages. They also didn’t question his cover story of being a mystical warrior displaced from his home dimension after his homeworld was destroyed, along with his family. Tom rubbed a cheap gold plated ring he wore on his ring finger just for added effect.

“The fire elemental will appear in Prague in approximately forty-eight hours. We have one mission: kill it.” Fury said, concluding the briefing.

There actually was a reason Tom chose Prague as the next target. It was the same reason he first chose Ixtenco, and then Venice. For one reason or another, all of those cities were outside the jurisdiction of any magical government. And with no magical government, there was no magical law enforcement to interrupt his plan. Hell, the magical world was so disconnected from the muggle one that he doubted the British Ministry would ever hear of any of this.

Peter got very agitated at the mention of Prague. Apparently he was currently on vacation, and Prague wasn’t on the itinerary. Tom’s opinion of Peter soured a little bit as the boy rattled off his excuses for not joining a battle to decide the fate of his world. To his surprise, Fury seemed to accept them, and let one of his lackeys escort Peter back to his hotel.

“We can’t just let him go,” Tom argued after Peter left. “We  _ need _ his help.” Actually, they didn’t, but Tom had to maintain character. Quentin would want Peter to fight with them.

“Oh, I agree, and we’ll get it,” Fury said as he pulled out his phone. “I’ll just have to make a few calls to a certain travel booking agency.”

* * *

“ _ Come on dad!”  _ Michelle whined. She was currently sitting in the bathroom with the sink running, that way Betty couldn’t overhear her calling her parents. She was Facetiming them instead of mirror calling them. The mirror was just backup communication, in case cell towers went down or something. Her dad was kinda paranoid in that way.

“No, Michelle, you are coming home,” Rowan said, starting to raise his voice.

“Dad, no one else is going home! It would look weird if I were the only one.” Michelle countered. “Come on mama, back me up here.”

Monique was actually going to go against her daughter’s expectation and concur with her husband… then the news that the trip was apparently still on gave her some doubt. “I don’t know Rowie… It would look strange if we were to suddenly pull Michelle away. And for all we know, this could have been a one-time event.”

Rowan sighed, defeated. “Fine. But I’m telling you Michelle, one more insane thing like today, and you’re coming straight home.”

“Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!” Michelle said, so excited she couldn’t hold her phone steady. She had a lot of fun with Peter today, and… she thought it was going to lead somewhere beyond weird passive friendship. 

A nock on the bathroom door almost caused her to drop her phone. “MJ, can you please stop running the sink? I think it makes the pipe above my bed leak.” Betty said from the other side of the door.

“I gotta go,” Michelle said. “Love you!” Then quickly hung up. She apologized profusely to Betty, then went to bed confident that Paris would live up to her expectation. A notion that was quickly quashed the next morning when they received some surprising news right as they were about to leave the run down motel.

“Good news, everybody!” Mr. Harrington said, addressing the class. “We’re going to Prague! The travel agency called, we got upgraded!”

The still deeply confused class was subsequently herded onto a really swanky looking bus. The fact that it had no advertising or marketing whatsoever along the side was deeply disturbing to MJ. But, as she took her seat she supposed it had to be a private company or something. But, the creepy looking driver was very suspicious…

“This seat taken?” Peter asked.

MJ smiled, “Yeah, by you.”

“You can have the window seat, babe.” Ned said, gesturing to the row right behind MJ and Peter.

“Aw, thanks babe,” Betty replied.

MJ tried to be happy for Betty and Ned, but for the love of magic itself, they were a cloyingly sweet couple. It made MJ’s teeth ache.

“So… Prague,” Peter began.

MJ sighed, “Yeah… Not gonna lie, kinda disappointing. I was really looking forward to seeing the Eiffel Tower.”

Peter looked surprised, “Oh, yeah… me too.”

MJ smirked, “You wanna know a funny story about the Eiffel Tower? It’s not as good as the mind control tower thing, but it does have the advantage of being, you know, actually true.”

“Go on,” Peter said, clearly hanging on MJ’s every word.

“Okay, so like. Not a lot of people know this about the Eiffel Tower, but it was originally supposed to be a temporary thing, something for France to show off during the 1889 World’s Fair. After 20 years it was supposed to be decommissioned and torn down. That’s not the funny part though. So like, there was this guy, a con artist named Victor Lustig. And he somehow managed to convince some local scrap dealers that he had the rights to sell the Eiffel Tower.”

MJ paused for effect, then continued. “Twice. He managed to sell the Eiffel Tower, twice…”

MJ spent the next hour or so explaining the grand life of scum and villainy that Victor Lustig lived. Peter just… let her talk… and talk… and talk… And at no point did he seem bored or disinterested the slightest. He asked genuinely engaging questions, which keyed MJ into the fact that he was indeed paying attention. That was one of the things MJ really liked about him. He actually  _ liked _ her weird stories and obsessions. Unlike other guys she could think of, who only feigned interest so they could get in her pants…

The bus ride went fairly well for the next couple hours. She and Peter talked the entire time about weird occult stuff and off the wall conspiracy theories. But that quickly changed when they made it to the twisty, winding roads in the Austrian Alps.

“Are you okay, you’re looking a little green…” Peter asked.

MJ shook her head, “N-no… motion sick…” She had been valiantly fighting back nausea, but the effort of saying those three words caused her to dry heave.

Peter’s eyes widened, and he passed her a barf bag in the nick of time. MJ spewed her guts into it, wincing at the acrid taste of her half-digested breakfast coming back up. The nausea didn’t abate, and it wouldn’t until they made it out of the alps.

“H-hey, I g-got anti-nausea pills but  _ urk  _ … the stuff knocks me out, so  _ ergh _ … I’m not gonna be the most attentive travel companion for a while…” MJ said as she pulled a small white pill out of her bag and dropped it into a bottle of water. The pill fizzed as it dissolved, turning the water into a foamy opaque white liquid.

“Alka-Seltzer knocks you out?” Peter asked.

“It’s not Alka-Seltzer,” MJ replied, right before she chugged the entire contents.

It only  _ looked _ like the effervescent heartburn medicine. In reality, it was an anti-nausea potion, calming draught, and the smallest effective dose of the draught of peace, all condensed into a dissolvable tablet.

Normally the mixture of potions would be extremely foul tasting, but her dad was as close to a master potioneer as they came. He was able to pack the tablet with mint flavoring that totally masked the taste. It also had the added benefit of getting the taste of vomit off her tongue.

The effect was drastic and immediate. The nausea immediately disappeared, and MJ’s eyelids got impossibly heavy. Maybe it was the calming effect of the potion, or maybe MJ was just that comfortable with Peter now… but the last thing she did before she drifted off to sleep was lay her head on his shoulder and intertwine her fingers with his...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so now begins the part where Spider-man stuff kinda steals the show for a while. I wanted to intersperse some scenes of Harry bonding with his new family, but I found that it bloated the chapters with stuff that didn't have any bearing on the immediate plot. So, while I'm not gonna make it Spider-man time all the time, the next couple chapters are going to be very Spider-man heavy. I know we're five chapters in on a fic built around the premise of Peter, MJ and Harry meeting and stuff but like... There's a lot of fic to go. Really, I'd hesitate to say we're even a fourth or fifth through it, so there's plenty of time for that.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Prague_ **

**_Early Summer, 2018_ **

When Corban Yaxley got a psychic call over his Dark Mark for the first time in over thirteen years, he initially refused to answer. His reason was simple. He had a better understanding of what was going on in the muggle world, thanks to his job at the International Wizarding Police. He knew that the muggle world had evolved basically overnight into something the Dark Lord didn’t have a chance of defeating.

That is, until a few days later when he received another call, this time detailing a plan to infiltrate the muggle world’s mightiest heroes. It was absolutely brilliant, in a convoluted sort of way. More importantly, it was completely different from his usual tactics, which showed Yaxley that the Dark Lord was willing to drastically change his thought process to fit changing times. 

Which was why he returned that call, and not only rejoined, but convinced his old friend Avery to as well. Unfortunately they couldn’t be directly involved in the first stages of the plan. His position in the IWP was vital in keeping magical governments from finding out about their activities. The British Ministry was keeping their heads in the sand when it came to the Dark Lord’s resurgence, but that wasn’t at all the case with other magical governments.

They were operating in various dead zones of the international magical government, but _eventually_ someone was going to realize this might not be one of the muggle world’s strange catastrophes and investigate. Indeed, the IWP eventually started putting two and two together and sent out coalition police forces to those various cities around the world that were _technically_ out of any magical governmental jurisdiction. Except for the fact that the International Confederation of Wizards had de facto jurisdiction of the entire magical world. They could send IWP forces to those dead zones, as long as the surrounding magical governments voted in agreement. 

Which would have been a death sentence for the Dark Lord’s plan… had Yaxley not lobbied hard for him and Avery to be the ones sent to Prague.

Corban and Avery apparated into a cavernous underground decommissioned muggle bomb shelter. The perfect place for the Dark Lord to make a temporary base. 

“My friends, good to see you,” someone said as he shook their hands.

Corban was a bit shocked at first, to have this stranger so confidently grasp his wrist. But, then he remembered. The Dark Lord was very proficient at human transfiguration, and as such was very convincingly disguised.

“I’d offer you refreshment after your long journey, but alas, we have much to prepare for and precious little time,” the Dark Lord said. “So let’s get right into rehearsals!”

He leapt into the air and flew into the center of the cavern on a cloud of green smoke. The gathered wizards collectively conjured a demon of searing fire and magma. And that was why the Dark Lord needed a few more wands on this project. His armor may have been reinforced with heat resistant runes, but they really wouldn’t be that effective against the broiling temperatures the fire golem generated. Any slip ups like the ones they had with the water golem could very well be fatal.

Hours of diligent practice later, and they were interrupted by a generic ringtone. The Dark Lord retrieved a muggle cellular device from his pocket and answered a call from Fury.

“Yes? Of course. Yes, I’m already in Prague. Oh, well, I can travel faster than most. It doesn’t matter, we still have over twenty four hours. Yes. Yes. Of course. Yes, see you then, Director.” the Dark Lord said, before hanging up.

“Well, people, we’ve run out of time. Our routine isn’t perfect, but it’s better than adequate, which all I could hope for. Good work, get some rest. Tomorrow is a very big day.”

“One more thing, my lord,” Corban said, sweating from the continuous magical exertion. “The IWP developed this,” he said, passing a curious Tom a piece of paper.

At least, he thought it was a piece of paper. Closer examination revealed it to be a simple sticker. Except, instead of some asinine logo, it was a complex matrix of glyphs and runes. Tom prided himself in his knowledge of ancient runes, but this was so intricate that even he was having trouble deciphering its use.

“A few years back the IWP started having serious trouble tracking and catching wizarding criminals who started adopting muggle technologies,” Corban explained. “To combat that, we developed these rune stickers. These little beauties are the pride of the department. Once applied to a muggle device and activated, they generate a jamming field that renders all muggle communication devices useless within a four hundred foot area. Along with that, they have a state of the art replication system. They can detect devices just inside their range, and automatically replicate and apply the copy to said devices. Each original can produce a hundred copies. Which means that with just a little work and planning, we can create a cascade effect that can disable the communications of an entire country.. And that’s not even the best part.”

“What’s the best part?” Tom asked, his excitement rivalling that of a child in a sweets store.

“Not only can they disable muggle communications, but they can generate anti-apparition wards as well,” Corban said.

Tom was taken aback. “Well, how forward thinking of the IWP,” Tom said, examining the sticker more closely.

“Yes, well… The muggle world is changing. And if we don’t change with them, we’ll be left behind. Or worse.” Corban shrugged.

“Yes! Yes! My sentiments exactly,” Tom said excitedly. Oh, it was so refreshing to have at least one follower whose world view wasn’t mired in centuries of bull-headed tradition. “How many do you have?”

Corban pulled a fairly thick stack from his breast pocket. “Oh, I’d say enough to generate a jamming field and anti-apparition network large enough to cover all of Czechia. ”

Tom couldn’t help but smile. Oh, yes. Corban Yaxley had firmly cemented himself as his new favorite follower. Draco and Tom's plan was pretty good, but it had a distressing lack of contingencies. The rune stickers Corban supplied filled those contingencies nicely.

“Lucius?” Tom said. He could tell he was a little bit jealous of Corban’s surprise usefulness. He had to throw him a bone.

“Yes, milord?” He replied.

“I think it would be prudent if you could procure us each an unmarked and untraceable broomstick. Just in case.” Tom said.

* * *

“Hey, wake up,” Peter said, shaking MJ awake mid-snore.

MJ snorted, then jolted upright. “Wazzup?” She asked, still bleary from a potion induced sleep.

“We’re out of the Alps and pulling up to a rest stop,” Peter said as the bus lurched to a halt.

MJ jumped out of her seat, “Lovely, I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

Peter snorted at her bluntness, while MJ practically ran out of the bus. That was the thing with the cocktail of potions she took. It worked wonders, but had one serious negative side effect: extreme profuse urination.

And to her horror, somehow her classmates beat her to the punch. A line snaked down from the _only_ restroom in the rest stop building. That pissed her off. What kind of rest stop only had one restroom?! Eventually MJ got too desperate. The only other building nearby was some kind of tavern house. MJ decided that it didn’t matter if she was under age, she needed to use the place’s bathroom.

She barged in, only to find Peter in the middle of pulling his pants off in front of a hot blond chick. Peter’s eyes went the size of saucers, but at this point MJ couldn’t care less.

“MJ let me explain-” Peter started.

MJ sped past him and the blond woman, beelining it to the door that would be her salvation. “Notimegottapee!”

She made it to the bathroom stall at the nick of time. And, turns out draining 60% of her liquid mass gave her some time to think and digest what she just saw. She felt a brief, blinding flash of jealousy before she ruthlessly murdered it. Her mom constantly drilled in her that nothing ruined a stable relationship faster than jealousy.

And really, what gave her the right to be jealous? It wasn’t like they were officially dating yet or anything. So what if Peter wanted to indulge in a quickie? Though… the woman did look a little old for him. Peter was underage so… It must have been a Spider-man thing. At least, she really hoped it was a Spider-man thing, otherwise Peter was in a very illegal, very toxic relationship. Her musings were interrupted by a frantic knocking on the stall.

“MJ, are you okay in there?” Betty asked. “It’s been like, twenty minutes. The bus driver is pissed. Pun intended.”

MJ rolled her eyes. Her bladder was currently swollen to the size of a goddamn football, she could only drain it so fast! “I’m almost done! I’ll be out in a minute!” 

“You aren’t like… rubbing one out are you?” Betty asked. “I’m not judging, it’s just like… couldn’t this wait for a better time?”

MJ aggressively wiped, pulled up her pants, and neglected to flush. She slammed open the stall and gestured angrily to the toilet, of which the water line was damn near touching the lower rim. 

“Good lord, are you okay?” Betty asked as they walked back to the bus.

MJ rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a side effect of my anti-nausea medication.” MJ lied, while also telling the truth.

While boarding the bus she caught the murderous look of the bus driver. She flipped him off as she took her seat next to Peter.

He looked rather shell shocked. “MJ, it’s not what you think-” Peter began.

MJ rose her hand, interrupting him. Then, she took out several bottles of water from her bag and began to chug them in quick succession. She had a lot of liquid that needed replacing.

Eventually she ran out of water. “Peter, it’s fine. You got your dick wet, good for you. I hope I bought you enough time to have a… satisfying experience.” MJ said, bemused. 

MJ thought she was being funny, but maybe she misjudged something. 

Peter looked about ready to cry. “MJ, I swear, it’s not like that. I-I can’t tell you what it really was, but it wasn’t what you think.”

She did a noncommittal shrug.“It’s fine. Even if it _was_ what I think it was, that’s totally fine. Though… I hope she knows you're seventeen? Oh boy, maybe it’s not so fine then?”

The continued look of horror on his face clued her in that _maybe_ she should stop being all sarcastic and stuff. 

MJ took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, no, don’t freak out. I believe you.”

“R-really?” Peter asked, in shock.

MJ nodded. “Really.”

And so, an awkward silence descended upon them. MJ had to break it before it stole their very souls. 

“So, I really know nothing about Prague,” MJ laughed. She took out her phone. A quick google search supplied something interesting. “Oh, hey. Check this out,” MJ said as she showed him the screen. “The Festival of Lights is happening tonight. It’s like one big outdoor party.”

“Oh, that’s really cool,” Peter said.

Then he realized something. Outdoor party. When he knew there was gonna be an attack by a giant fire monster. Oh… that was bad. Really really bad.

MJ gave him a quizzical look as Peter frantically texted someone. Hopefully, if Mr. Fury could hijack his trip to make them go to Prague, maybe he could also arrange for them to go somewhere where they’d be safe during the attack.

“You good?” She asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Peter said. “Just uh… had to text May that the trip is going to Prague instead of Paris. I don’t want her to worry.” 

Oh man, that reminded her… She had to tell her parents they were being diverted. That might not go too well… but Peter might be her ace in the hole.

She took a deep breath, and called her dad over Facetime.

“Hey dad,” MJ began. She could see the tv in the background. Dad was playing video games, which was not unusual. What _was_ unusual was the fact that someone else was sitting on the couch with him. Someone she didn’t recognize.

“Whose that?” She asked.

Rowan winced. Oh boy, he didn’t want her finding out like this. But he guessed it was better to rip the bandage off quickly. “So, remember that thing I said? About how something would be different when you got back, and how it wasn’t bad?”

“Yeah…” MJ said.

“Well,” Rowan turned the phone so Harry was fully in frame. “This is your cousin Harry.”

Harry waved awkwardly.

MJ waved back, just as awkwardly. She recognized the scar, the glasses, the shaggy black hair… She and her dad were quite avid Potterheads. One of their favorite things to do together was read about his insane adventures in Hogwarts reported by the _Wizarding World News._ She always thought it was just because her dad was originally from Britain and Harry Potter was a national hero. Now it suddenly made more sense.

“So,” Rowan continued. “It took me a while, but I was finally able to get him out of an unstable living situation. So, he’s gonna stay with us for the foreseeable future.”

MJ nodded. “That’s… cool.” MJ said, still shellshocked.

“So…” Rowan said after an awkward pause. “Uh, was there a reason you called? Not that I need a reason to get a call from my daughter, but you normally have a reason.”

MJ shook herself out of her stupor. “Uh, right. So our trip itinerary has been changed. We’re going to Prague. I hope everything’s still okay?”

Rowan wanted to say ‘no, everything wasn’t okay, and that Michelle was going to be coming home as soon as possible whether she liked it or not’. He wanted to say that, but he realized that wouldn’t be fair. He had just irrevocably changed her life. The least he could do would let her finish her trip.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he replied. 

“Have fun in Prague!” Harry said from the background.

MJ nodded, “Thanks… will do… Okay, gotta go. Love you!” MJ said, addressing her dad. Then she suddenly hung up.

Peter saw the whole thing. It was impossible not to, he was sitting right next to her. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, assuming her shock was just because she had a new permanent house guest.

MJ nodded. “Yeah, I mean. It is kinda a big deal… But what am I supposed to say? ‘Sorry cousin, this is all too sudden, go back to whatever shitty household you came from’? Yeah, how big of a bitch would that make me?”

“MJ… You’re allowed to have feelings about this. Negative or otherwise,” Peter said.

“Yeah, I guess,” MJ shrugged lamely.

“Good news everyone!” Mr. Harrington announced from the front of the bus. “I just got off the phone with the travel agency. They finally gave me the itinerary for Prague. So, right after we drop our bags off at the five star hotel-” He was interrupted by the class erupting in cheers.

He waited for them to die down before continuing. “As I was saying, once we drop our bags off, we’re going on a tour of some old decommissioned cold war nuclear bunker! Won’t that be fun?”

The class collectively groaned. MJ had to agree. That sounded so very boring. Especially when compared to the Festival of Lights. Peter, on the other hand, couldn’t be happier. Mr. Fury really came through with him on this one, he couldn’t think of a better place to keep his friends safe than a bunker made to withstand thermonuclear blasts!

* * *

**_Temporary SHIELD Base, Prague_ **

“Parker,” Fury said. When Peter didn’t reply, he tried again, louder this time. “ _Parker!”_

Peter jolted when Fury barked his name. “Yessir?”

Fury rolled his one good eye. “That thing is going to be here in a few hours. Are we boring you?”

“He’s not bored,” Quentin cut in, “he’s just thinking about how you kidnapped him.”

Fury had the decency to at least act indignant. “He had obstacles. I removed them.”

“They still won’t evacuate the city,” Maria Hill reported.

“Idiots,” Fury whispered under his breath.

Tom internally smirked. Of course they wouldn’t make an official evacuation order. His cronies _imperio-ed_ the officials in charge of making evacuation decisions. He had to have a captive audience for his moment of triumph, after all.

“So what’s the plan, Parker?” Fury asked rhetorically.

“I’ll be posted in the cathedral tower, keeping watch for the fire monster. When it shows up I’ll radio you guys, and then Mr. Beck and I will-”

“My name is Mysterio,” Tom said with a mischievous smirk.

“That’s right, uh. Mysterio and I will uh…” He seemed to whither under Fury’s gaze, so Tom took up the slack.

“Peter, listen to me. Our only chance… this world’s only chance, is to stop it here and now, no matter what the cost. Maneuver it away from civilians if you can, but most importantly, keep it away from metal. If it gets too big, it’ll be able to draw power from the earth’s core. And after that, there’s no stopping it.”

Peter looked nervous. “Hey man… my friends are here… I know that Mr. Fury found somewhere safe for them. But I doubt even a nuclear bunker could protect them from something like that…”

Tom almost broke character. Almost. He had a disciplined enough mind to not let his shock show on his face. This was very bad. They never bothered to clean up the bunker after practice. There was a giant fifty foot tall magma monstrosity sitting in the very bunker Peter’s friends were going to hide out in. And if they had any brain cells whatsoever, they’d quickly put two and two together. But… Fury wasn’t giving him dirty looks or anything, and hadn’t received any calls recently, which meant he still had time...

“Excuse me, I have to make a call,” Tom said as he quickly stepped out of the room.

* * *

“So… How deep is the elevator shaft?” Mr. Harrington asked Domitri. 

The class was currently descending into the depths of the earth on a rickety elevator. He was still concerned for Peter, who stepped away for just a moment to use the bathroom, right as their scary bus driver told them they had to commence with the tour. Mr. Harrington wanted to make a fuss, but the man’s steely gaze was just so… terrifying...

“The shaft is five hundred feet deep, the bunker itself is a massive lead, steel and concrete lined cavern. The Soviets began building a luxury facility deep in the earth to house their top officials and their families for an indefinite period in the event of nuclear annihilation. They only got so far as hollowing out and lining the cavern before the Soviet Union collapsed.” Domitri said. He looked all of that up on google on the bus ride here. Of course, he was stuck playing tour guide to a bunch of children…

“Wait… like in Fallout?” Ned asked.

Domitri rolled his eyes. “Yes, like Fallout.”

“So like, this is just a giant cavern in the ground right?” Flash said as the elevator dinged. “What’s there to… see…” Flash trailed off as the doors opened.

Inside the cavern was a titanic magma monstrosity frozen in a pose like it was trying to swipe something in the air. It was mostly solid, but parts of it still glowed a deep cherry red, the heat still radiating off the massive mass.

“Woah…” Ned said in shock. “It looks like… one of the elemental things…”

MJ had a growing realization of just what was going on, as the class approached the terrifying golem. She could still feel the ambient magic mixed in with the heat pouring off the thing.

Domitri followed the kids, approaching the monster in utter shock. Then, he realized he had to report this. He raised his hand to his earpiece, his fingers barely brushing the button when he was interrupted.

“ _Avada Kedavra!”_ Lucius cried as he stepped out of the shadows. His metallic silver skull mask reflected the green beam as it arched from the tip of his wand to the hapless hitman turned bus driver.

MJ cried out in shock as their bus driver dropped dead. Her parents had done their best to prepare her for any situation. MJ liked to tell herself she kept a cool head, but that wasn’t the case at all. Back in DC, when her friends were trapped in the Washington Monument… She could have done something… but she stood frozen in shock and let Spider-Man save the day.

It was the same now as it was then. She did absolutely nothing to stop the masked man, as her friends and teachers panicked around her.

“ _Accio fellytone,”_ Lucius said. Luckily for him, _accio_ was all about intent, not pronunciation. So the smartphone still clutched in Domitri’s death grip sailed through the air and flew into Lucius’s hand.

He applied the rune sticker to the strange muggle device then gingerly laid it on the ground, as if it would explode at any moment. Then he turned towards the elevator shaft. “ _Reducto!”_ He cried, and a terrible boom echoed through the cavern, as the elevator shaft collapsed in on itself.

His lord had a truly brilliant plan. Trap the children in the cavern and use a rune sticker to make sure they couldn’t call for help. Then, during the battle, they’d move the magma monster over the courtyard that constituted the ceiling of the bunker. And when it was finally ‘defeated’ they’d have it explode in a fiery death explosion that would also cause the cavern to collapse. His master would blame the structural failure on shoddy Soviet engineering, and just like that, all the loose ends would be tied up in a nice pretty bow.

He waved goodbye to the panicking class, and apparated out of the cavern that would eventually become a tomb. He reappeared on the roof of a building overlooking the festival courtyard. He drew the control glyph for the sticker he applied earlier. Lucius stared at it quizzically for a moment. All he had to do was activate the jamming feature, but he didn’t know how to do that without activating all the others as well.

He shrugged and waved his wand over the control glyph, and it glowed a bright vibrant blue signalling that it was activated. Thankfully, the anti-apparition wards and replication feature had a limited range and didn’t extend all the way up to the surface. It wouldn’t do to start the cascade effect early, after all.

 _“Is the deed done?”_ The Dark Lord asked over the Mark.

 _“Yes, milord,”_ Lucius replied.

 _“Lovely. Well, gentleman. It’s time…”_ And with that, they began their most dangerous and deadly performance yet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a few hours after posting this, it occurred to me... why doesn't Lucius just kill the kids? Like, it's not like there would be any evidence left behind. He assumes they'd get incinerated. The only explanation I can offer is that Lucius is a sadist, and the idea of them burning alive in agony is far more appealing to him then a quick and easy death by Killing Curse. Sure, it forces them to waste a rune sticker. But Yaxley has a bunch of them, wasting one on the murder of a small class of high schoolers isn't that much of an issue.


	7. Chapter 7

“Keep it away from the ferris wheel!” Mysterio cried, his voice distorted by his helmet.

Peter swung down from the buildings surrounding the courtyard, and landed right in the fire elemental’s path between it and the massive source of metal. He tried to slow it down with his webs, but the heat the magma beast gave off was so strong that it incinerated his webs before they could make contact. 

The elemental was about to crush and/or incinerate him with it’s colossal fist, before Mysterio jumped in and generated a mystical shield to protect both of them. The fire elemental battered the shield over and over again, Mysterio barely able to hold off the onslaught.

“On to Plan B?” Mysterio asked, his voice wavering.

Peter nodded, “Yeah! We gotta hit it with something it can’t absorb!” He looked around, and spied a fire hydrant nearby. “There!”

“Alright, I’ll lower the shield and you make a break for the hydrant! Now!” And with that, Mysterio dropped the shield and flew off, blasting the creature with his magical beams in an effort to keep it off Peter.

Peter swung through the air, dodging flying debris and fire blasts, and made it to the hydrant. He kicked it hard, breaking the casing. High pressure water sprayed from the cracks. From there it was easy enough to bend the metal in such a way as to direct the spray towards the fire creature.

And for one brief, shining moment, it looked like it was working. The fire elemental shrieked and backed off, shrinking as it was hit with its elemental opposite. But it was too early to celebrate. The elemental backed up, right into the metal scaffolding around a building. The scaffolding melted under the intense heat, and fell into the giant magma creature. It absorbed the metal, regaining its former size and strength. 

And the half-built building, with all it’s exposed steel metal I-beams collapsed onto it. The elemental grew to titanic proportions, towering over the buildings surrounding it.

“Oh no…” Peter whispered. “We’re too late…”

Mysterio turned to the despondent hero. “Whatever happens…” His helmet retracted into his armor so he could look Peter in the eye. “I’m glad we met.”

“No… no Beck! What’re you doing?” Peter cried.

Mysterio turned, resolute, his helmet reforming around his head. “What I should have done last time.” He gathered as much mystical energy as he could, and charged valiantly into the chest of the fire elemental.

The creature turned emerald green where he struck it, then the green spread throughout the creature's body. Unil finally, it roared it’s last, and exploded in a violent shockwave of green magma.

Peter took cover behind a fallen building just in time. A few seconds later, when he realized he wasn’t incinerated, he dared to peek his head from behind the fallen concrete pillar. And what he saw was utter devastation. The courtyard… didn’t exist anymore. In its place was a massive and impossibly deep crater. Only, it didn’t look quite right. It looked like some kind of underground tunnel collapsed or something. Magma poured down the walls and pooled in the center. Peter hoped nobody was taking the metro or… whatever that was, tonight.

Through the plumes of smoke, Peter saw the familiar glint of golden armor. Mysterio was alive! Only, the lights in his armor flickered, and he began to fall, obviously too drained to stay aloft. Peter caught him with a web in the nick of time and pulled him to relative safety.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw the black unmarked SHIELD cars pulling up. Just a tad late, but better than never, Peter supposed. Mysterio leaned heavily on him as together, they limped to Director Fury.

Peter knew instantly something was very wrong. The look on Fury’s face was… terrifying. He looked… sad. Which… that had to be impossible right? Like, it was Fury!

“W-what’s wrong?” Peter asked, a growing sense of dread forming in the pit of his stomach.

Fury looked unsure of what to say. Eventually, he managed, “Parker… that courtyard,” he said, gesturing to the devastated plaza. “The… the bunker was built under it.”

Peter clumsily turned toward it, and took two unsteady steps towards it before Mysterio grabbed him and pulled him into his arms.

Numbly, Peter wondered where the sounds of a dying animal were coming from. Then… he realized that it was his own throat…

* * *

**_Decommissioned Nuclear Bunker Beneath Prague_ **

**_A Few Minutes Earlier_ **

“HOLY SHIT HE’S DEAD!” Flash shrieked. He was the only person with the wherewithal to check on their poor bus driver. Betty collapsed in shock and started sobbing.

“Hey, it's okay,” Ned said, comforting his girlfriend. “We should be able to call for help at… least…” His voice trailed off as the same weird symbols from the bus driver’s phone suddenly appeared on his screen. 

Everyone else pulled out their phones, and all of their screens glowed with the same strange symbols.

“What the hell,” Mr. Harrington said, “my phone’s locked up…”

It was the same with everyone else's. And the slow realization that they were trapped with no way to call for help unlocked the pandemonium.

Mr. Dell sprinted around, shrieking “WITCHES! WITCHES!” at the top of his lungs.

Some of the other students huddled together, crying. Others were futilely bashing their fists against the ruined elevator doors. To his credit, Mr. Harrington was trying to calm everyone down, but he looked on the verge of tears himself.

Fortunately, her parent’s training was starting to kick in. MJ ignored the chaos, and instead she focused on the problems. She thought maybe she could side-along apparate her class to the surface a few people at a time. Unfortunately, when she tried testing it, she immediately got hit with a dizzy spell and almost fell over. So, whatever those runes were, not only were they disabling their phones, but they also must be generating an anti-apparition ward…

She pointed her wand at her phone. _“Finite!”_

The phone still glowed with the ancient symbols. Then she tried vanishing the phone. That didn’t work either. She contemplated blasting it, but all her wand waving and incantations got Mr. Dell’s attention.

“Y-your one of _them_!” He accused.

MJ rolled her eyes. “Yes, but if I was the bad ones, you’d think I’d be stuck here with you!”

Logic seemed to be totally out of the realm of Mr. Dell’s capabilities right now. He screamed obscenities at her at the top of his lungs.

MJ normally had a pretty thick skin, but… Mr. Dell was one of her favorite teachers. He was the only one who kind of understood her fascination with the weird and occult. And now, he was shouting the worst kinds of slurs at her…

And what was worse, was some of her class joined him. She was quickly surrounded by people she thought were her friends, all screaming at her… 

Sure, Ned, Betty, Flash, and Mr. Harrington were trying to calm everyone down, but all MJ could focus on was the angry faces surrounding her.

Thankfully, they stopped when the roof began to rumble ominously. The rumbling got louder and louder, then the roof started to glow and eerie red...

“Everyone get around me!” MJ urged.

Some of her class actually followed her order, but others actually sprinted _away_ from her in a panic. She whipped her wand around, and wordlessly cast a summoning charm. Shoes squealed against the rough stone floor as they and their wearers were dragged back into the circle. 

And with not a moment to lose. Molten rock began to rain from the ceiling. 

_“Protego Maxima!”_ MJ screamed. 

A shimmering half dome of magical energy surrounded them, shielding them from the falling magma. But there was so much… the crushing weight, the heat… it was too much. The class screamed as the shield shrunk and flickered.

_“Fianto duri!”_ MJ cried, and the shield glowed brighter and held… if barely. 

Then, the searing heat started to seep through. At first it was just uncomfortable, but then it got to the point where the kids closest to the barrier screamed as their skin scalded.

_“Aguamenti!”_ Water erupted from MJ’s wand, flowing through the barrier and cooling the magma.

“ _Protego Maxima, Fianto duri, Aguamenti… Protego Maxima, Fianto duri, Aguamenti… Protego Maxima, Fianto duri, Aguamenti…”_ MJ chanted. Each time, the shield grew stronger, glowed brighter, while the magma it held back rapidly cooled from the water and turned into stone.

And gradually enough of the stone cooled and solidified and MJ no longer had to keep chanting. Which was very good, considering she didn’t know how long she could keep that up before she passed out. She was already feeling more than a little light headed.

Unfortunately, with the glow of the shield gone, it plunged the small dome into complete darkness.

“Is… is everyone alright?” The voice of Mr. Harrington said through the void.

“I dunno,” Ned replied. “I can’t see anything…”

“Hold on,” MJ whispered. “Gimme a second to catch my breath and I’ll make us some light.”

A few minutes later, when it no longer felt like she was going to pass out from the slightest magical exertion, MJ whispered, _“Lumos.”_

A little ball of blue light from the end of her wand revealed that she had successfully created a half dome chamber _just_ large enough to fit all fourteen people in her class, if only barely. People jostled each other as they tried to fit into comfortable positions, but it wasn’t like they were super packed in there like sardines.

A quick headcount revealed that MJ had successfully protected everyone… except for their bus driver. Her summoning charm only affected living people, after all…

“I think,” Mr. Harrington began, “that certain people,” he glared pointedly at Mr. Dell, “owe Michelle an apology, considering she just saved our lives.”

MJ received a veritable bombardment of sincere apologies. She waved them off. “It’s fine, guys. I get it. When you’re panicking you say really… really awful things. But, really it’s fine.”

An awkward silence descended upon the group, only to be broken by Ned. “Hey, uh… is it getting harder for anyone else to breathe, or is it just me?” 

Flash’s eyes widened. “Holy shit, how much air do you think we have?”

That actually really worried MJ. She made a chamber barely big enough to physically accommodate them all, but with fourteen people all breathing the same air, it wouldn’t be long before the oxygen was depleted to deadly levels.

Everyone seemed to realize that same thing, and another panic ensued. This time, Mr. Dell surprisingly enough was the person to inject logic into the situation. “Everyone shut up! Freaking out is only gonna waste what little air we got! Everyone, take slow even breaths…”

That calmed the class well enough, but realistically speaking they only had minutes of air left. Something glinting on Mr. Dell’s chest caught MJ’s eye. It looked like a glass necklace, only there was something green suspended in it. MJ recognized it as a moss charm, the kind superstitious no-maj’s wore to ward off evil. Of course realistically speaking they did nothing, but Mr. Dell’s superstitious nature just saved all their lives!

“Mr. Dell, can I see that necklace?” MJ asked.

He looked confused, but passed it over to her. MJ smashed the glass and ignoring Mr. Dell’s protestations, inspected the contents. The glass was actually a small sealed jar, housing actual living moss. 

MJ pressed the moss to the wall of the chamber with the tip of her wand. “ _Herbivicus,”_ she whispered, and the moss rapidly grew, covering every square inch of available stone. 

She pointed her wand at the tiny blue ball of light. “ _Lumos Solem.”_ And the light turned from a bright blue to a natural orange-yellow, producing actual sunlight that the moss could use for photosynthesis.

“That’s brilliant!” Betty exclaimed. “You know, I read somewhere that moss is way better at converting CO2 than trees and grass and stuff!”

“Great, so… now what? How long can we last in here? Days? Weeks?” Flash said. “Did… did anyone bring food? What about water?”

“I can make water, duh,” MJ said. “As for food… I can replicate copies of whatever snacks and stuff we have… but food copied with magic doesn’t make more nutrients. All it does is take what’s there and spread it out…”

Ned stared off at nothing. “We’re gonna starve to death…”

“No! No, we’ll- we’ll be fine. Someone will find us eventually!” Mr. Harrington exclaimed.

MJ appreciated his optimism, but… honestly she privately agreed with Ned. Nobody knew they were alive, and they had no way to contact anyone.

Then, she felt her handbag getting uncomfortably warm. She dug through it, looking for the source, then found their saving grace. Her two-way mirror must not have been affected by the runes! She resolved to never complain about her dad’s paranoia ever again.

* * *

**_Jones Residence_ **

The past few days had been the best of Harry’s life, hands down. And that was including his time at Hogwarts. The Jones’s treated him like family. Well, they were family, but so were the Dursley, and they treated him like the lowest form of life on the face of the planet. While Rowan and Monique treated him like a long lost son or something.

Harry wanted to immediately get on with training or something, but his aunt and uncle would have none of it. There was plenty of time for that later, they told him. For now, he should focus on being a kid.

Rowan taught him the wonders of video games, movies, television, and the internet. At first he wondered how muggle devices could work in a magical home. Harry was always taught magic disrupted electricity. Rowan explained that a few decades ago a muggle-born witch figured out how to shield delicate electronic components from the disruptive effect of magic. 

Most of the world adopted that technology wholeheartedly, the MACUSA being the first magical government to create an entire industry based on magically shielded electronic devices. But certain very orthodox magical governments banned it, considering it a gross misuse of muggle artefacts. Magical Britain, of course, was one of those countries.

Monique resolved herself to helping Harry emotionally, after he had a terrible nightmare his first night in their house. She held the sobbing boy in her arms, gently rocking him until he cried himself to sleep. Since then, every day before she went off to work she had a heart to heart with Harry. Kind of like a little therapy session. 

She learned that Harry had a heroic streak a mile wide, and that often got him in trouble. She also learned that Harry had a terrible relationship with other authority figures in his life. It stemmed from him having no reliable adults in his early life, but got really bad when he got to Hogwarts. Apparently in his first year, he reported something to a professor he thought he could trust implicitly… and got totally ignored.

And that created a huge anti-authority complex in him. He didn’t purposefully break rules for the fun of it though. No, it was more like he realized the adults in his life couldn’t or wouldn’t help him with his problems, so he never went to them in the first place.

Monique tried her best to make Harry understand that that might be true for his professors, but it would _never_ be the case with Rowan and Monique. If he ever, _ever_ had a problem, no matter how big or small, they would take it seriously and do their best to help him solve it. He just had to trust them enough to come to them in the first place… which was the issue. Harry was a very guarded person, emotionally. It was hard for him to let people in. Monique was confident they could work on that, though.

“So how do these work, anyway?” Harry asked, referring to the magical clock they were working on. Rowan and Monique wanted to make his own hand on their family clock. After all, he was a member of the family.

“Oh, well, you put a drop of blood on the hand, like so,” Rowan said as he poked Harry’s finger with a small knife and let the blood drip onto the name. “And this keys into your magical core. Certain magical places like work, schools, stores, ect, all have an ambient magical field. That field resonates with your core, and the hand moves to the appropriate place.”

“Oh,” Harry replied, impressed. “What about ‘lost’, ‘danger’, and ‘mortal peril’? Those aren’t places.”

Rowan shrugged. “Your magical core reacts to your emotions. Confusion would move the hand to ‘lost’, fear would move it to ‘danger’, and fear plus despair would move it to ‘mortal peril’.”

“Oh, neat,” Harry said. “You know, I always wondered how the Weasley’s- uh, friends of mine- how their family clock worked.”

Rowan smiled. “Many magical families have clocks like these. It’s common to receive one as a wedding gift, to signify the start of a new family. Some of them, though, get massive as more and more family members get added on. You should see my grandmother-in-law’s, it’s gigantic.”

As Rowan worked on reassembling the clock, he asked, “How is Arthur doing, anyway? Last I heard he had like, five kids?”

Harry laughed, “Seven now.” Then he realized, “Wait, you know Mr. Weasley?”

Rowan nodded. “Yeah, Arthur was a prefect during my first year. He defended the young no-maj born kids from the Slytherin bullies, and I taught him all I could about the non-magical world. We became pretty good friends, for a while. Then when the War kicked off in earnest… well. He went his way, I went mine. We haven’t talked since.”

That put Rowan in a depressed mood, and he went silent as he continued work on the clock. He got it all put back together soon enough. Monique’s hand clicked into ‘work’, while Harry’s and Rowan’s moved to ‘home’. Rowan’s heart stopped as Michelle’s hand moved back and forth between ‘danger’ and ‘mortal peril’ before stopping firmly in the latter.

That was bad… very bad. Even when Venice was attacked by the water monster, Michelle’s hand wiggled between ‘travel’ and ‘danger’...

Harry had the good sense to turn on the news. “Oh my god..” he whispered as the screen filled with the image of a massive magma monster rampaging through a city. 

Someone who he thought was Spider-Man swung around the monster, shooting webs and throwing debris into it in an effort to slow it down. At least, he thought it was Spider-man. He thought Spider-man’s motif was red and blue, while this guy wore all black.

Helping him out was someone the news kept calling Mysterio. He flew on a cloud of green smoke, shooting emerald green beams into the elemental monster. Sometimes they did something, but most of the time the monster didn’t even react to them.

“Come on, Michelle! _Answer!”_ Rowan growled as he repeatedly tried to text and call his daughter. 

Even when the magma beast was defeated, and all danger should logically be passed, Michelle’s hand never left ‘mortal peril’ and she still didn’t answer.

Rowan eventually gave up on the phone and raced upstairs to retrieve something. Meanwhile, Harry jumped as the fireplace burned green, and Monique stepped through.

“What the hell is happening?” She asked, as Rowan practically flew back down the stairs.

“I don’t know, we’re trying to find out,” Harry said, as Rowan muttered over a small hand mirror.

“Come on, Michelle…” Rowan muttered, as the mirror heated in his hands. He had to set it down as it got uncomfortably hot. Michelle was taking forever to answer. Which was probably because they hardly ever used the mirror because it was meant for emergency communication only. Or... it could be because... well... Their clock didn't have a section for 'dead'. He wondered... if she really was... would it just stay in 'mortal peril'?

To everyone’s relief, Michelle’s panicked face filled the mirror. 

  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

MJ would have jumped for joy when she saw her dad’s face reflected in the mirror, but of course she would have bumped her head on the low ceiling.

“Whose that?” One of her classmates asked.

“How did you get your phone to work?” Someone else said, mistaking the mirror for a smartphone, apparently.

“Will everyone shut up!” MJ shouted.

“Michelle, where are you?” Rowan asked, completely unconcerned about the fact his daughter was using a magical artefact in the presence of her no-maj class.

MJ began the long process of explaining the whole situation. A process made even longer by the constant interruptions of her classmates and teachers. 

“I just floo called the DMLE,” Monique said from just outside the mirror’s camera angle. 

“What’s a floo call?” Ned asked.

Betty added, “What’s the dee emelee?”

“Will everyone who isn’t my daughter or my wife please shut up!” Rowan barked.

Monique continued, “So Captain Edward is trying to get authorization to get the aurors involved, but he’s meeting a lot of red tape.”

Rowan sighed, “Well, we can always portkey into Prague as private citizens.”

“What’s a portkey?” Flash made the mistake of asking.

MJ jabbed her wand at the class, “ _Silencio!”_

Monique nodded, “We won’t have support, but we shouldn’t need any to take down one rogue wizard.”

“It might not just be Mysterio,” MJ said. “I mean, did you see the size of those golems? He probably has accomplices.”

Rowan smirked, “Oh, don’t worry Michelle. We’ve been doing this a long time, a rogue and his buddies shouldn’t be too much trouble. Anyway, you’ll be out of there in no time.”

“Wait,” Michelle said, “before you go, you should warn Fury. Maybe he’ll be able to help?”

“That’s actually a really good idea,” Monique said. “Anyway. Love you baby, see you soon.”

“Love you mama,” MJ said, and ended the call.

She sat in an awkward silence that just went on... and on… _and on_ … until she remembered. 

“Oh right,” she said, “before I drop the silencing charm, lemme just say, I’ll take your questions to pass the time, but like, don’t overwhelm me or I’ll silence you all again.”

MJ dropped the charm, and to her relief, her class seemed apprehensive about talking at all, let alone asking her questions.

Ned got the ball rolling. “So, how does your mom know Nick Fury?”

MJ shrugged, “She personally doesn’t, her boss is a pretty high up official in the MACUSA, though. Oh, that’s the Magical Congress of the United States of America. Anyway, they normally stay out of each other’s way. In fact, it’s illegal in magical society to talk about magic stuff to non-magical people, but on occasion magical and non-magical governments have to talk to each other, especially in times of crisis.”

“Wait, there’s a government of witches?” Mr. Dell asked, slightly appalled.

“First off, a guy is a wizard, a girl is a witch, and gender non-binary magic users are known as warlocks. At least in english speaking countries. And yes, there’s a lot of magical governments all over the world.” MJ said. “And beyond that, there’s the International Confederation of Wizards, which is kind of like the magical equivalent of the UN.”

And that spun off into a long involved lecture about magical socio-politics, culture, why they stayed secret, etc, etc. Her class stayed surprisingly silent and attentive, though there wasn’t much they could do other than listen.

There must have been a lot of magma just behind the walls of their chamber, because occasionally the moss would start steaming and MJ would have to cast cooling charms. She didn’t wanna say anything to freak out her friends again, but she was really starting to feel the effects of magical exhaustion.

The powerful shield charms she cast took a lot out of her. Plus, while _lumos_ was such a simple spell that it hardly drained any magic from the caster, _l_ _umos solem_ was much harder to sustain for long periods of time. It included all spectrums of natural light generated by the sun, which was necessary for the moss to photosynthesize properly.

Unfortunately in terms of magic usage it was like running a LED compared to an incandescent bulb, and MJ was quickly running out of steam. Eventually she'd pass out and/or die from magical exhaustion and the light would go out. And without the light, the moss would stop photosynthesizing. And without the moss, they'd run out of air. She could only hope her parents could make it in time...

* * *

**_Carlos VI Hotel Penthouse (Temporary SHIELD Base)_ **

**_Prague_ **

As Mysterio tried in vain to console a sobbing Peter, Nick Fury couldn’t help but think of the colossal waste of potential. He knew a broken person when he saw one, and Peter certainly qualified. Fury knew what came next: Peter would hang up his suit for good and settle into a lifetime of therapy and depression.

Of course, Fury felt for the kid. In fact, he felt a certain posthumous hatred for Tony Stark, along with a healthy dollop of self-loathing. It was a huge lapse in judgement on both their parts. Stark shouldn’t have recruited the kid at such a young age, no matter how talented he was. And Fury certainly shouldn’t have perpetuated that mistake by literally putting the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

Honestly, grown men strained, and often buckled, under that responsibility. And they expected a teenager to be able to bear it? Of course he couldn’t, and now, they were all paying for that mistake. At the ripe old age of seventeen, Peter Parker’s life had functionally ended. And Fury was partly to blame.

The only salvageable part of this whole situation, aside from the fact that the world was safe (for now) was that the Avengers had a very promising new member.

Peter eventually stopped crying. Then without a word, he got up and trundled out of the penthouse, presumably to go to his room and continue grieving alone. 

Fury walked over to Mysterio, who was currently standing on the balcony, staring out into the partially destroyed city. 

“Well, that was a shitshow,” Fury said as he lit a cigar. The sweet tobacco only did so much to calm his nerves.

He offered one to Beck, who politely declined.

“That’s the understatement of the century… Though it could have been so much worse.” Quentin said with a sigh.

“You know,” Fury said between puffs, “I should have known it was a bad idea to put them in that bunker. Fuck Soviet construction.”

Quentin raised an eyebrow, “Oh, so they couldn’t build worth a damn in this reality either?”

“Nope,” Fury said, smoke billowing from his nose. “So, the Avengers has another opening. I’d appreciate it if you’d fill it. I know that sounds insensitive, but I do not have the luxury of sensitivity right now.”

Quentin sighed, “No, I understand. And… for what it’s worth, I’d be honored to join. Now, if you excuse me, I really don’t think Peter should be alone right now.”

And with that, he stepped off the balcony, and gently floated away.

Peter stood uncomfortably close to the edge of the hotel roof, but he didn’t really care. He stared at the beautiful black flower pendant dangling in his hands. It truly was a master work of crafted glass, worth ten times what he paid for it. But when the master glassblower heard it was meant for a young lover, he was bound by honor to lower the price to something Peter could afford.

For a terrifyingly long moment, Peter contemplated chucking the necklace as far as he could, then jumping off the rooftop himself. But no… he couldn’t do that to May. And as for the necklace, the gorgeous ungiven gift was the only thing he had to remember his lost love by.

So, he took a long step back, and sat at a comfortable distance from the ledge. Peter was still staring longingly at the pendant when Mysterio floated over the ledge and took a seat next to him.

“That’s a beautiful piece,” Tom said. 

And he meant it. Peter almost certainly didn’t know it when he bought the necklace, but judging by how the glass flower positively sung with magic, it was probably made by a master magical craftsman.

“It was meant for a beautiful girl… and… n-now she’ll n-never-” Peter’s voice cracked, and his body shook as he held back the sobs.

Oh, that certainly made his heart hurt. To lose a love at such a young age… It really was positively heart wrenching. He was serious, he felt absolutely terrible. He also was entirely aware of how hypocritical that sentiment was. If someone were to take the time to write down all the names of all the people he directly or indirectly killed, the stack of paper would probably go ten feet high.

“D-does it… does it ever get better?” Peter asked. “A-and, I’m s-sorry for… you lost your wo-world, I just lost s-some friends…”

“First off,” Tom said, “don’t you dare feel sorry for feeling pain. You have every right. I may have lost my world, but that doesn’t magically mean you don’t get the right to feel.” He sighed, “Secondly… no, no it really doesn’t get better. Eventually you just sort of get numb.”

That didn’t sound too bad to Peter. He’d give anything to not feel anymore.

“Don’t think that,” Tom said. “That train of thought takes you to a really, _really_ dark place.”

Peter started. Did he say that aloud? He must have… right?

* * *

While her husband apparated ahead, Monique called Captain Edwards again and told him to inform Fury of the potential betrayal. Once that was done, she turned to Harry. “My gramma will be here soon to watch over you. In the meantime, don’t do anything rash.” 

And with that, the living room echoed with a soft pop as Monique apparated away.

As Harry stood in the empty living room, he couldn’t help but feel a little patronized. He was fifteen years old for crying out loud! He didn’t need a babysitter. He plopped onto the couch, wondering if he should use the floo to get help or something.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a soft voice said from behind him.

He whipped his wand out as he turned, a _stupefy_ on his lips. But before he could cast anything, his wand literally disappeared from his hand.

Harry looked on in shock, as his wand reappeared in the gnarled hands of a very old woman. Her skin was like a crinkled paper bag, she wore an old fashioned black dress, with a red shawl draped over her shoulders, and her hair was wrapped in a yellow fabric. And suddenly he realized he must have pulled his wand on Monique’s grandmother.

She held his wand up to her ear, listening to the thrumming magic. “Holly, phoenix tail feather, eleven inches... Ollivander’s work. A good wand, if’n a little cursed by its siblin’.” The old woman passed his wand back to him. “Name’s Madame Marie Catherine Laveau… the secon’. Ever’one thinks I’m my mama, but I ain’t.”

Harry accepted his wand, his face burning with embarrassment. “S-sorry, I didn’t hear you apparate in.”

“That’s cuz I didn’t,” she said as she gingerly sat down on the couch. “Ah, I keep tellin’ them they need a new couch. This’n’s too low fo’ m' back.”

Harry sat in silence with the ancient woman for a little bit. The embarrassment faded away, and the indignation came back. “I don’t need a babysitter,” Harry grumbled, “I’m fifteen years old!”

Marie rolled her rheumy eyes. “I don’t babysit… ‘cept for my gran’babies. An’ I guess ya are one of ‘em now, but I ain’t babysittin’ ya. I’m guardin’ ya.”

Harry looked at her skeptically. “Guarding me? From who?”

Marie shrugged, “Vol-De-Mort.” She said his name strangely, saying each syllable independently as if it each was its own word, and pronounced ‘mort’ with a silent ‘t’. “An’ I guess Dumbledo’ too.”

Harry blinked, clearly still not impressed.

“Chile, not to toot my own trombone, but I am considered the greatest voodoo priestess in all creation.”

“Wait,” Harry said, “voodoo is real?”

Marie looked incensed. “‘Course voodoo is real! What, ya think wand wavin’ is the only way to evoke magic? What’s that young foo' teachin’ in his great big castle of his anyway?”

Harry thought she might be referring to Dumbledore, but that couldn’t be right… He was positively ancient, so for her to call him young…

“Oh, Dumbledo’ maybe old, but I got sixty years on ‘em. Makes him a young’n in my book.” Marie said.

Harry jumped. He didn’t say that aloud, did he?

“Naw, ya didn’t. I am a legilimens… Eh, mind reading isn’t quite right. I can jus’ vaguely sense surface thoughts n’ feelings, an’ if’n I really concentrate I can parse out some memories. Oh, sorry, son, yes ‘tis very rude o’ me. But in my defense, ya mind practically screams ya thoughts.”

She groaned as she got back up from the couch. “Now, how ‘bout I make it up ta ya? I’m gonna teach you some _real_ magic.”

‘Real magic’ turned out to be cajun cooking. But Harry actually didn’t mind. He liked cooking, despite being forced to do it all the time at the Dursley home. The tantalizing smell of the slow simmering gumbo did wonders to calm his nerves and take his mind off things.

* * *

Peter and Mysterio sat in contemplative silence for a little bit, before Peter decided he should go back to his room and pack. He needed some kind of monotonous distraction, otherwise his thoughts would eat him alive. As soon as he closed his door he got the sense that something was… off… “Hello? Is someone there?”

“You’ve got good senses, Spider-Man,” Rowan said as he dropped the disillusionment charm. 

Peter immediately tensed.

“Wait, don’t freak out,” Rowan sighed, “I’m Rowan Jones, Michelle’s father. I know you’re Peter Parker by the way.” 

So did his wife. When an impossibly strong kid in red and blue pajamas started swinging around in New York, they had to make sure it wasn’t some magical kid having a lark at the no-maj's expense.

Rowan was tasked with figuring out who the kid was. Imagine his surprise when he saw one of his daughter’s classmates changing out of his techno-spandex in the middle of an abandoned alley? He figured exposing the kid to the world, magical or otherwise, would be what his daughter would call a ‘dick move’. So he told his boss ‘Spider-Man’ was the product of a no-maj experiment gone wrong, which wasn't a lie, neglected to mention names, and called it a day.

Peter immediately teared up again, he really didn’t pay attention to anything after he figured out he was talking to the father of his dead almost-girlfriend. “S-sir y-your daughter is-”

“Fine, for now. Trapped under a couple hundred tons of rock and magma, so she might not be fine forever, but fine for now.” Rowan finished for him.

Peter couldn’t believe it. Literally, he might actually die from relief if it was true. “Wait… she’s alive?”

Rowan nodded. “Mysterio… or Beck, though I doubt that’s his real name, is a fraud.”

He pulled out his wand and flicked it towards the sink. Water erupted from the faucet, which he transfigured into a reasonable approximation of the water golem from Venice.

Peter stared at the small water monster as it let out a tiny high pitched roar. “How are you doing that? Holograms or…”

“Magic,” Rowan replied, Statute of Secrecy be damned, this was an emergency.

Peter blinked, “Wait, you’re serious.”

Rowan nodded, “Very. Now we don’t have a lot of time, come with me.” He took Peter’s hand and apparated them to the collapsed plaza. Peter dry heaved a few times, but otherwise didn’t vomit from having his body squeezed through and subsequently spat out a micro-wormhole.

Monique was already there, busy conjuring a massive storm cloud. It thundered, then produced a veritable deluge of water on top of the still molten rock. She waited for the artificial lake to stop boiling, signifying that all the magma had been cooled. Then Rowan returned the water to its gaseous state, making no-maj’s all throughout Prague wonder why it was so humid all of the sudden.

Rowan leapt into the now cooled chasm, followed quickly by his wife. It was nearly a fifty foot drop, so they both slowed their falls by wordlessly casting _arresto momentum_. Peter, on the other hand, swung down on a web and tucked and rolled to dissipate the force of landing.

“Come on, this way,” Rowan said as he walked vaguely towards the center. He could feel his daughter’s magic shining in the rocks, but it was quickly fading...

* * *

MJ was reaching her limit. Her eyelids felt like they were made of lead, and she caught herself dozing off more than once. Then, the inevitable happened.

“Hey, where’d the light go?” Flash asked as the little ball of sunlight winked out and plunged the chamber once again into total darkness.

The class panicked again, and there wasn’t really much Misters Harrington or Dell could do to stop it. The kids were kind of okay stuck in a tiny place so long as there was light, but once it was gone, the claustrophobia really started to set in.

Thankfully, they weren’t left panicking in the void for long. There was the thunderous sound of huge masses of stone being ground to dust, and suddenly they were bathed in the very soft glow of the crescent moon.

“ _Ascendio!”_ echoed from somewhere above them, and suddenly the whole class was rocketed towards the surface on a disk of stone.

Everyone was silent for a moment as they processed the concept of large open spaces and fresh air. Then once their brains could compute the fact that yes, they were indeed free, they erupted in cheers.

Rowan and Monique were mobbed by the eternally grateful teenagers, but they shouldered past them towards the much more important form of their unconscious daughter. 

Peter followed them in a daze. He had allowed himself to hope that maybe MJ was alive after all, only to have that hope crushed by the sight of her laying on the ground, motionless.

“Whose the ninja?” Flash asked, referencing the fact that Peter was wearing his black incognito suit. 

Rowan and Monique knelt next to their daughter, Peter joining soon after.

“I-is she…” Peter couldn’t even bring himself to say it aloud. 

Rowan felt Michelle’s magical core flickering like a candle in a gale. It wasn’t out yet, but it would be soon, and after that…

“No, she’ll be okay,” Rowan said, retrieving a vial from his mokeskin pouch. It was a little risky, giving Michelle a invigoration draught. They were known to have some pretty intense side effects. But one dose shouldn’t hurt. Plus it was either that or have her die, so the choice was clear.

He uncorked the vial, opened MJ’s mouth and poured in the vial's contents. She instinctively swallowed it, but didn’t immediately wake up. Everyone in attendance slowly leaned toward her in anticipation…

Only to collectively nearly die of fright as MJ bolted upright, screaming at the top of her lungs.

It felt like someone took an insidious cocktail of caffeine, adrenaline, and like, methamphetamines or something, and injected it directly into her heart. Her head pounded and her heartbeat thrummed a million miles an hour. Her eyes flickered to random things in her field of vision, unable to focus, her chest heaving as she hyperventilated.

Her magical core went from basically depleted to overflowing in less than thirty seconds, and her body was having trouble adjusting to the abundance of energy.

“Easy, baby, easy,” Monique said as she passed her daughter another potion. “Drink this.”

MJ chugged the whole thing, and instantly felt at least a little better as the strong calming draught worked its literal magic.

“Mama?” she asked in a daze, her brain finally able to process the things her eyes were seeing. “Daddy?”

Immediately the three of them erupted in tears as they clutched each other, finally allowing the ever present anxiety to bleed away. 

Peter _almost_ allowed himself to truly believe MJ was alive. But he had to make sure. He had to see her with his own eyes, not through the goggles of his mask. He pulled his mask off, so dazed that he totally forgot he could have just clicked the goggles up.

“Penis is a ninja?” Flash exclaimed. “Ow!” He grunted as Betty stomped on his foot.

MJ blinked, then pulled Peter’s face close and pressed her lips to his. Such a dire near death experience really put things into perspective for her, and she realized that she couldn’t be afraid of rejection anymore. Their teeth clacked together, and their tongues had no idea what to do, but that was often the way of first kisses. But still, it was sweet and loving, so the inexperience didn’t matter much.

“Guys, look!” Ned shouted, pointing towards the penthouse balcony of the Carlos VI hotel. He really didn’t wanna wreck his best friend's moment, but he thought he heard gunshots coming from it, and the green flashing from the windows... He remembered what the green light did to their bus driver.

Rowan and Monique looked at each other worriedly. Nick really didn’t just try and confront Mysterio on his own, did he?

They got their answer when seven pops echoed through the night in quick succession. Mysterio and six masked figures appeared on the ledge overlooking the chasm. Rowan recognized those masks: Death Eaters… Which could only mean one thing.

“Voldemort…” Rowan said, as he slowly stood.

Mysterio wiped his hand over his face, and the visage of Quentin Beck was replaced by an equally handsome but clean shaven face… and piercing red eyes, pupils slitted like a viper’s. Tom sighed, “Nothing gets past you, eh Rowan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, things are really kicking into high gear now, huh? Sorry, I know it's been cliffhanger after cliffhanger, but at least I'm able to get daily uploads done, huh? Which reminds me, as much as this story is taking over my entire life, I think a daily upload schedule is inherently intendable. However, that being said, I will endeavor to produce at least one chapter per week. And as a consolation, the chapters from here on out will probably be considerably longer. Anywho, enough of the boring stuff.
> 
> If you guys ever get the chance, look up Madame Marie Laveau AKA the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. Her history is fascinating. Though, I do know she's been getting a little more limelight in pop culture recently, so you guys might already be familiar with her. I only have a passing familiarity with the way people from New Orleans talk, so if there's any mistakes with her phonetically transcribed accent, I apologize. 
> 
> Anywho, so one of the things I'm gonna try to do in this fic is highlight other magical cultures in my version of the world of Harry Potter, while also balancing it out with MCU stuff. I'm going to try to accurately base the magical stuff off of real world mystical, mythical, and religious practices and belief systems, because I feel like that grounds the world. That being said, while I do study world cultural anthropology in my free time, I don't have a degree and I don't do it for a job. I do it for fun, my research taken from whatever reasonably credible sources I can find online. Which means eventually I'll make a mistake, portray a culture or practice inaccurately, get mixed up with history, etc. etc. And I want to apologize in advance if anyone who belongs to the cultures I mention get offended by those potential mistakes. 
> 
> Of course, I will remedy those mistakes to the best of my ability if and when they're pointed out. The only thing I ask is for some kind of credible source, because I don't wanna just go off of the hearsay of internet strangers. Anyway, I've turned this note into a novel, so I'm gonna let y'all go. Ciao!


	9. Chapter 9

Harry decided that gumbo was his new favorite food. The gravy was warm and smooth, spicy, but not to the point where he couldn’t taste all the other spices they put in it. The chicken and sausage was absolutely divine, so tender that they hardly required any chewing, which seemed to please Marie and her ancient teeth.

“Go on, boy, getcha self another bowl,” Marie urged. The kid looked like he could use another bowl of gumbo. She didn’t like how hollow his cheeks looked.

Harry got up from the dining table, but was stopped from going back into the kitchen by the intense stares of Zuko and Zilla.

_ “We isss hungry too…”  _ Zilla said expectantly.

Zuko’s tongue flicked as he said,  _ “Miccce pleasssse?” _

_ “Oh, right,” _ Harry hissed back. He retrieved some frozen pink mice from the freezer and laid them on the counter top.

He looked at Marie expectantly, who just stared back.

“Well,” she said, “them snakes ain’t gonna wait forever.”

Harry drew his wand, but looked nervous. “It’s just, I’m not seventeen yet. My wand still has the Trace.”

Marie chuckled, “Yet ya were ready to hit me with a stunner,” her raised hand interrupted his apology. “In any case, ya wand  _ did _ have the Trace. Doesn’t no mo’.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “Wait, you can just… take the Trace off? Just like that?”

The old woman shrugged, “I can n’ I did. Now, ya gonna defrost those mice, or keep standin’ there like a fish drownin’ in air?”

“Right,” Harry nodded. He waved his wand in a complicated pattern, and said the incantation for the hot air charm. His first attempt didn’t defrost a mouse, so much as partially cook it. Marie informed him that cooked meat wasn’t good for snakes. He gave it to Hedwig instead, who didn’t seem to mind.

His next attempts got the pink mice nice and soft, but not too hot for the snakes to eat. They hissed appreciatively, and drug their meals into their hides to consume in private.

His chore complete, Harry went back and got another bowl. Then another, and another. He stopped at his fourth, not because he wasn’t still hungry, but because of what he saw on the family clock.

Michelle’s hand went from ‘mortal peril’ to ‘travelling’ only for a few minutes. Then, her’s, Rowan’s and Monique’s all clicked firmly into ‘mortal peril’.

Marie turned to see what Harry was staring at, only for her cloudy eyes to widen when she saw the family clock. She got up from the table as fast as her old bones would allow. 

“Harry,” she began, “I’m gonna leave you here. Ya don’ leave this house, ya un’erstan’? No matter what happens, you stay in this home.”

And with that, Marie’s form blurred, her body slowly dematerializing into shadow as she shadow-stepped to Prague. Or at least, she attempted to. She re-materialized back in the kitchen after only disappearing for the briefest of moments. Harry caught her before she fell.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

Marie gasped for breath before replying. “Dunno…”

She was getting up in years, she couldn’t deny it, but she should have been able to shadow-step to Prague without much difficulty. 

Shadow-stepping was a method of magical travel very similar to apparition, in the fact that it could take someone somewhere instantaneously. But it used less magic, which allowed her to travel distances otherwise impossible via apparition. Though, while it used less magic as a whole, it required much more precise control, which was why most magical people didn’t employ it. Well, that and the fact that to learn it required some pretty steep deals with certain loa, but that was neither here nor there.

Marie snapped her fingers, and the magical map Monique and Rowan kept in their room appeared before her. It showed the ley lines of the earth, and all the major portkey routes. Tiny little red dots peppered the map, signifying small areas of anti-apparition wards. They were restricted to private homes and businesses of wealthy individuals, and certain magical government facilities. At least, that was normally the case. All of Czechia was covered in one massive blob of dull red.

“That red blob is the problem, I assume?” Harry asked.

Marie nodded. “I could shadow-step t’ the border, but what am I supposed to do when I get there? Run fifty some odd miles to Prague?”

“Why don’t you just fly in on a broom?” Harry asked. 

Marie looked sheepish. “I… don’ fly…” In one hundred and ninety years, she never got around to learning how to fly a broomstick. She just didn’t have the time. At least, that’s what she told herself. The reality was, the idea of flying through thin air at high speeds was terrifying to her. 

Harry blinked, “Well, I do. Hold on.” 

He ran up the stairs, and a few seconds later came back down holding the Firebolt Supreme Sirius gifted him in his third year. He thanked his lucky stars he was able to convince Hermione to cast an extension charm on his trunk so he could fit it. He wasn’t technically supposed to have it, but Dumbledore gave him special dispensation to take it home on account of it being extremely rare and expensive. Providing he never use it, of course. 

“Well, chile, looks like you’re coming with me to…” She quickly consulted the map, looking for the shortest point between the border of the wards, and Prague. 

There was a small indentation in the ward field where it didn’t quite make it to the border. “Usti nad Labem,” Marie finished.

Without delay, she grabbed Harry’s hand. The living room disappeared into a void of smoke and shadow, and suddenly Harry found himself in the sleepy little Czechian town. Literally sleeping, actually. He was a little jarred by the fact that while it was four in the afternoon in New York, it was almost midnight in Czechia. 

“Le’s get this ove’ with…” Marie said.

Harry nodded and helped her mount the broom. He coughed as Marie’s arms practically crushed his chest. She was really strong, despite her age.

“Which way?” Harry asked.

Marie pointed south west, and screamed like a banshee as the fastest racing broom ever made accelerated from nought to one hundred fifty miles an hour in less than ten seconds.

Harry climbed rather steeply. The broom had an assortment of luxury wards. Cushioning charms, warming wards, anti-breakage wards, waterproofing shields, a windscreen charm… and most importantly, an air bubble ward. He took the broom high into the air, where the atmosphere was thin. 

The thin air allowed him to push the broom’s top speed from one hundred and fifty, to damn near two hundred miles an hour. At that speed, Prague would be in sight in less than fifteen minutes. But… a lot could happen in fifteen minutes...

* * *

“You’re an arrogant idiot Voldemort,” Monique growled, “the aurors are on their way as we speak.”

“Yes, they probably are.” Tom smirked. “Let’s remedy that, shall we?” He retrieved the master control rune from his breast pocket, and charged it with magic from his fingertips. It glowed blue… along with all the rune stickers it controlled.

All over Czechia, muggles watched in shock as their phones, televisions, computers, anything with a screen, cut out, only to be replaced with a hypnotic pattern of glowing symbols. The runes copied themselves from device to device, until almost every single electronic device in the country was infected and disabled. And that wasn’t nearly the worst of it. Then the wards activated.

Instantaneous wizarding travel of any kind created quantum tunnels between the place of departure and the destination. And, if those quantum tunnels got interrupted at any point by the activation of an anti-apparition ward while the teleportation was in progress...

There were dozens of said tunnels crisscrossing Czechia at that very moment. And the instant the wards activated, magical people traveling along those tunnels got pulled out of them and splinched into reality. The lucky ones didn’t so much reappear, as much as splat into existence as amorphous blobs of broken down cellular matter. A quick and easy death. The unlucky ones reappeared missing limbs, vital organs, huge sections of skin… some even appearing partially within walls or trees, or… horrifyingly enough, in other people…

Thankfully that horrible effect only happened in the split second when the apparition wards activated and interdicted magical teleportation already in progress. After that, the wards would just make it impossible to initiate a magical teleportation inside, to, from, or through the wards.

Tom felt fairly confident. Sure, the aurors could always apparate to the border of the wards and fly in on brooms or something, but that would take time. Plus, knowing how the magical world worked, they were probably bogged down in meters of bureaucratic red tape.

“So, it looks like the aurors will be taking their sweet time getting here,” Tom joked, “and when they finally do, I’ll be gone, you’ll be dead, and…”

With a wave of his wand, Tom summoded the bodies of Nick Fury, Maria Hill, and half a dozen other agents of SHIELD. “Well, nobody alive will know the truth about Mysterio, will they?”

He casually flicked his wand, and magically tossed the bodies into the chasm. MJ turned away as their bodies hit the surface of the rocks, making slapping sounds not too different from heavy drops of rain…

_ “Now, let us divide and conquer, shall we?” _ Tom said over the Mark. " Crabbe, _ Goyle, I believe you both are uniquely qualified for taking on Peter. Yaxley, you and I will take Rowan and Monique. Avery, you get the honor of dealing with their daughter. Lucius, Macnair, you’ll be in reserve. Take your brooms and hide amongst the rooftops. Wait for my signal, should I need assistance.” _

Lucius and Macnair did most of the heavy lifting when it came to the golems. Such magically straining spells, day after day, coupled with the copious amounts of invigorating draught that they took… well, it was actually a small miracle that they were even standing. So they were immensely grateful for the fact that they were able to mount their brooms, wait out the battle on a roof somewhere, and hopefully conserve some magic.

Thankfully, Crabbe and Goyle weren’t nearly as drained. And in any case, their method of… duelling, if it could even be considered that, didn’t require copious magic use. But it did require some preparation. They retrieved vials from their pockets, and downed the contents. 

The cocktail of strengthening solution, girding potion, barkskin brew, and constitution cordial was truly foul on the tongue. But the combined effects should have allowed them to go toe-to-toe with Spider-Man in what they were best at… physical combat. 

They roared as they charged, their voices amplified and distorted by the magical doping. Peter timed his jump and web swing so that he was in the air at the same time they were leaping down. He webbed their hands and pulled hard as he swung, yanking the two mini Hulk wannabes out of the chasm and away from his class. That was fine with Crabbe and Goyle, they were interested solely on testing their strength and skill against the famous Spider-Man.

Meanwhile, the adult Jones’s used powerful leaping charms to get up to Voldemort and Yaxley’s level, and began a vicious duel. They wielded their wands like rapiers, but instead of parries and thrusts, it was shield charms and curses. Voldemort and Yaxley willingly yielded much of the battlefield, retreating into the city proper as they defended against expertly timed and aimed spells. Thinking they had their opponents on the ropes, Rowan and Monique followed them without much thought.

That left only MJ to defend her class. Not that she needed to right away. Avery Scamander took the time to transfigure a rock into a chair, and retrieved a small leather square from his pocket.

“Well,” MJ cried up to him, “are we going to duel or not?”

“Oh, I would,” Avery replied, “but my friend prefers his prey to fight back, and he hasn’t had a challenge in such a long time. Perhaps you will give him one!” Avery tossed the leather square into the chasm.

It sailed like a frisbee, and MJ tried to hit it with a blasting curse midair. However, her hands were still shaking from the invigoration draught so the curse sailed wide.

The leather square grew as it flew, revealing itself to be a suitcase. A very special suitcase, actually. One that belonged to Avery’s father, before he stole it.

The suitcase landed on the floor of the chasm and opened by itself. MJ didn’t know what to expect, but she certainly didn’t expect the head of an old man to pop out of it. His hair was long and unkempt, like a lion’s mane. And his beard didn’t look very well maintained either. MJ soon figured out why that was the case, when the old man continued wriggling out of the suitcase.

It wasn’t an old man. The arm of a lion was next, then the body. A segmented scorpion tail followed, tipped with a bouquet of porcupine quills that swished on the rocky floor.

“Mr. Whiskers,” Avery called. “Dinner time!”

“MJ, is that a…” Ned began.

“Manticore,” MJ finished.

_ “Oh, what delicious morsels I see before me…” _ The manticore growled.  _ “I haven’t had a muggle so long, I forget what your kind tastes like…” _ It’s red eyes glowed in the dark, staring at the children and teachers.

“Well, you’re gonna have to wait to find out!” MJ cried.   
She swiped a line in front of her with her wand, and erected a stone wall to hide behind. Thankfully her classmates and teachers got the hint, and took cover just in time to avoid the poisonous quills the manticore launched from it’s tail.

MJ tucked and rolled next to Ned and Betty. “Don’t get hit by the quills! The venom will kill you in seconds!”

Seeing that his prey had a reasonable defense for his long range attacks, Mr. Whiskers attempted to leap over the stone fortification. But just as he crouched to jump, MJ popped up from behind the wall and tossed a blasting curse at his feet.

It did absolutely nothing to him, physically. His skin and fur was all but impervious to magic, and his bones were similarly reinforced. But what it did do was create a shockwave that sent him flying back.

MJ continued her assault by banishing rocks at him. She sent them sailing at ballistic speeds, so fast that they exploded on impact with the manticore’s fur. But his skin and fur was too strong. He shrugged off even direct blows to the face.

_ “Nice try girl,” _ the manticore purred, “ _ but not good enough.” _

MJ reverted to what she knew worked, and sent blasting curse after blasting curse at the creatures feet. Slowly, he was driven back to the point where the quills he shot at her barely cleared the stone wall. The gentle pattering they made as they embedded themselves in the rock floor gave MJ an idea. They were strong and sharp enough to embed themselves deeply in the stone with minimal force. Maybe they’d be able to get through the manticore hide...

She got up and sent a blasting curse, much  _ much _ weaker than the ones she had been tossing around earlier. Then she fell to the floor, feigning magical exhaustion. Of course, it was just an act. The invigoration potion gave her almost too much magic to throw around.

“Are you alright?” Flash asked.

MJ immediately huddled behind the wall, nodding, “Yes, but be quiet…” She silently summoned all the quills she could see to her, and levitated her magic mirror up so she could see over the wall. 

The manticore paced back and forth, wondering if the girl really did collapse. Then, deciding that she probably did, he took off running towards the stone fortification.

MJ watched his reflection carefully. She’d need to get the timing just right.

The manticore easily leapt over the short wall, only to get a chest full of it’s own quills as MJ banished them up towards him fast enough that they broke the sound barrier. The manticore continued sailing through the air, clearing the stone wall by a good twenty feet. 

Though he messed up the landing, falling on his chest. The quills were initially only a few inches deep, but falling on them forced them deeper. Though to MJ’s horror, not so deep as to be fatal. Nor would the venom they contain harm him either, manticores being immune to their own toxin.

_ “V-very,”  _ the manticore coughed, “ _ Very good try girl, but n-not nearly good enough…”  _ Though, the quills were actually poking him in the lungs with every breath, so he was coughing quite violently and seemed apprehensive to attack.

MJ was kind of at a loss at what to do now, if she was honest. She thought for sure that would kill him. Then, his coughing gave her another idea. MJ knew manticore skin and fur to be magically resistant… but what about his insides?

_ “Kagu-tsuchi!” _ MJ cried, unleashing the most powerful fire curse she knew. 

A tiny ember of fire sailed through the air and into the manticore’s throat mid cough. His coughs turned into the kind of sounds a cat makes when trying to cough up hairballs. 

Except instead of disgusting bundles of mucus and fur, he was coughing up small gouts of fire. But the effect should have been much more dramatic... MJ thought for a second that maybe she miscalculated again, and that manticore insides were as tough as their outsides.

Then Mr. Whiskers began to thrash, as fire bellowed from his mouth. Thankfully, it wasn’t towards the class. Eventually the fire began to sputter, like a blowtorch running out of fuel. Then, it stopped entirely, and the manticore skin and fur sagged. The bones and flesh burned away, but the hide was still intact.

The class huddled against the wall in utter shock, then erupted in cheers. MJ knew their celebrations were premature.

Avery stood on the ledge of the chasm, screaming in rage. His friend of fifteen years was now nothing but charred skin and fur. He took some deep breaths. No matter. He had other friends. Friends that the Jones girl couldn’t possibly defeat. Who should he send next? Stinky the nundu? Or perhaps Snoofles the chimera? 

_ “None, my friend,” _ his master’s voice echoed in his head.  _ “I require your assistance. Worry not, the Jones girl will still die, along with her friends…” _

Avery seethed for a moment, then obeyed his master’s order. He summoned the suitcase back to his hand, it shrinking as it sailed through the air. Then he retrieved a miniature broom from his pocket, returned it to normal scale, and flew off.

MJ watched him go, confused. Then, she noticed Peter fighting the two close combat battle mages near the ledge of the chasm. And to her horror, Peter was losing...

* * *

When Peter thought about wizards, he immediately thought of the Dungeons and Dragons stereotype: physically weak, but immensely powerful because of their magic.

Dungeons and Dragons was wrong, at least about these guys. He thought he had won the fight from the get-go. Not many people could fight with their hands bound. But, to his shock they ripped through his web like… well, like it was as fragile as a normal spider web. Whatever those guys took, it made them at least as strong as Captain America.

Peter thought maybe they were the bruiser types, strong, but otherwise not all that skilled. His spider-sense screamed at him, allowing him to just  _ barely _ duck an expertly timed and executed ax kick. Well, there went the bruiser notion.

The plain and simple fact was… they were better than him. Far better, at least in terms of technical skill. Peter wasn’t super versed in martial arts, but he thought he recognized krav maga, muay thai, and even wushu thrown in just for flavor.

And Peter, well… He had enough skill in martial arts to know he really sucked at martial arts. Though, if he got a hit in, he was confident that he’d win the fight. Because the limiting factor when applying force through a punch wasn’t actually a person’s strength. At least, it wasn’t once they got beyond a certain strength level. What really mattered was friction. If Captain America hit something as hard as he  _ really  _ could, and that something was immovable, like a wall or something, the force would travel down his body and cause his feet to slip out from under him.

That wasn’t an issue with Peter. Since he could increase the friction between his feet and the floor, he could deliver his full strength to a hit without his feet slipping out from under him. Coupled with the fact that if he hit someone while he was holding on to them, he could increase the friction between  _ their _ feet and the floor, making sure they didn’t sail away from the force of impact and ensuring they took the full force of the blow.

The only issue was he’d have to get a hit in first. And that was proving a problem. They weren’t stronger than him, they weren’t faster than him, but there  _ were _ two of them. Every time he thought he maybe cornered one, the other one forced him to dodge a counter attack. It was infuriating.

But… maybe he didn’t have to get a hit in to trap one of them. He was fairly confident he could take one of their hits and force them to stick to him. Then once they couldn’t dodge way, he could beat the tar out of them. 

When he tried it though, he realized just how big a mistake he made. The hit itself wasn’t bad, though he thought he might have hairline fractures on his ribs. No, where he made his mistake was again, with the fact that there was two of them. While he stuck to one and grappled with them on the floor, the other one pounced on him and got him in a perfectly executed rear naked choke. 

Immediately he felt his blood pound in his ears, his vision blurring out around the edges, until it started to grey out entirely. And he thought ‘well, this is it, this is how I die…’

Then out of the blue, they let go of him, sailing high into the air as they jumped away. The reason being was a  _ very _ pissed Michelle Jones.

_ " _ _ Get away from my boyfriend!” _ She screamed, then launched a flurry of curses. 

Crabbe and Goyle tried their best to fight back, but traditional magical dueling wasn’t their forte. They quickly lost ground. Then, they too got the psychic recall order from their master, and then leapt onto a nearby building. Then from there they jumped from rooftop to rooftop like spring heel jack, and MJ lost track of them.

“You okay?” MJ asked as she helped Peter to his feet.

He nodded, “So, boyfriend, huh?”

MJ smiled sheepishly. “Well, I thought I should make it official… I mean, that is if you want-”

“Yes,” Peter nodded profusely. “A thousand times yes.”

“Cool,” MJ said, a little shell shocked. “Uh, we should probably get back to the class...”

“Has anyone seen my parents?” MJ asked when she featherfalled back into the chasm.

“No,” Betty said, “But… maybe they have something to do with that?” She pointed to a dull red glow further into the city.

MJ’s eyes widened as something hit her senses. Whatever that was, it was very big, very powerful, and  _ extremely  _ dark magic. 

She saw her parents first, their feet blurred from the effects of a haste charm as they ran. Then, the glow behind them got brighter as the source turned the corner.

Well, it was more accurate to say the corner of a building melted away. Solid brick melted like chocolate as a giant fire snake barely brushed against it. Voldemort literally surfed on its head, surrounded by a very strong shield charm to protect him from the heat. His followers floated above, just outside of the range of the heat, jets of fire erupting from their wand and feeding into the snake.

“W-what is that?” Mr. Harrington asked.

MJ knew of only one spell that required so many people to control… “Fiendfyre…”

Her parents leapt into the chasm, conjuring a truly gigantic wall of stone behind them. It was impossibly tall and thick, and MJ thought there was no way Voldemort could get through it.

Then the fiendfyre snake bashed its head through two seconds later. 


	10. Chapter 10

Rowan should have known better than this. It should have been obvious that Voldemort and his lackey were giving up too much ground too quickly. They were being drawn away from the kids, but he really didn’t care.

His sister’s killer was right there… right there in front of him. All it took was one lucky shot and he’d have his revenge. He chased that lucky shot, literally and figuratively, as Voldemort and his masked partner led them on wild chase throughout Prague. 

“Fight me you  _ fucking _ coward!” Rowan raged, as Voldemort ducked behind a car to avoid his cutting curse. 

The curse cut deeply into the steel body panels, but not all the way through. He wasn’t surprised. It was specifically tailored to sever living tissue and leave a lingering darkness that made it impossible to reattach the flesh. 

He and a good friend of his came up with it while in school, because they needed something immediately deadly, but that wasn’t an Unforgivable. It served him well over the years, and if his luck held, it would be the curse that would finally sate his lust for vengeance. 

Only his luck wasn’t holding. Voldemort didn’t get where he was without being incredibly skilled. He didn’t just throw the Killing Curse around and call it a day. If he had, Rowan actually probably would have been able to end the fight quicker. A lot of dark wizards fixated on the instantaneous stopping power of  _ Avada Kedavra  _ to the point where it made them very predictable and actually pretty easy to deal with, so long as one kept a cool head.

That wasn’t the case with Voldemort, despite him displaying a certain penchant for it in the past. In fact, the fatal jet of green light never once appeared from his wand. Instead, Voldemort employed a devilishly complicated defense by transfiguring the buildings and debris around them into roiling patterns of impossibly liquid earth and metal.

It was nightmarishly difficult for Rowan to deal with. If he had been simply using shield charms to block Rowan’s curses he’d eventually break them down. Shield charms could stop anything, save the Killing Curse. But, they were dependent on the strength and will of the caster for their durability, and eventually could be worn down under sustained fire.

Voldemort’s defense via transfiguring solid objects into flowing liquid mass and turning that into an ever changing shield, however… that was much more difficult to break through. Imparting magic on an object inherently made it magically resistant once the magic was already flowing through it. Which is why Rowan’s blasting curses didn’t do anything to the roiling surface of the liquid earth.

He tried banishing debris, broken masonry, sometimes entire automobiles, into the transfigured mass, but Voldemort just intercepted whatever Rowan threw at him and incorporated it into his shield. Then, he had an idea… Maybe he could break down the shield of transfigured objects by hurling transfigured ammunition.

Rowan melted a nearby bus down into a stream of molten metals. Then, he formed it into a white hot whip attached to the end of his wand. He cracked his newfound weapon against Voldemort’s shield. And lo and behold, it actually sliced partly through. Voldemort’s red eyes gleamed from the jagged cut in his shield of randomly transfigured objects.

“Very good! Come on! Again!” He urged, though Rowan couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or condescending. Probably genuinely condescending. 

Slowly, very slowly, he began whittling away at his opponents defenses, while his wife kept the other Death Eater off his back.

Monique was having a hard time bringing the guy down. She was fighting a more traditional duel, slinging hexes and curses and parrying the counter attacks with perfectly timed shield charms. Something she normally excelled at, and realistically should have ended the fight pretty quickly.

But whoever she was dueling, they were extremely well trained. Most moderately competent wizards were fairly immobile when dueling, hardly moving from where they started and confident their magical defenses were more effective than physically dodging.

That wasn’t who she was dueling at all. They were hyper mobile, using cover at all times. And when cover couldn’t be found, they summoned it or conjured it. She also recognized the complicated tactic of combination spell casting: casting two or more spells in quick succession whose individual effects were harmless, but combined were deadly. Certain spell combinations were taught as standard to auror departments or other wizarding police. And based on what her opponent was slinging, she got the sense that they happened to be a part of the International Wizarding Police.

She filed that little thought away for when it would be more useful. She could investigate the implications later. For now, she had to make it out of this situation with her family intact. Which, if she was honest, didn’t seem all that outside of the realm of possibility despite dueling Voldemort himself and his top Death Eaters. Their opponents were being remarkably passive duelists, only attacking to keep their attention. And that train of thought led her to a terrifying conclusion.

“Rowan!” She shouted to her husband. “We have to get back to Michelle! They’re just trying to distract us!”

“Am not!” Voldemort said, poorly hiding his smirk. “We’re really giving it our all, aren’t we my friend?”

The masked Death Eater’s voice was distorted by his mask, but that did nothing to hide the sarcasm. “Of course, milord. I’m really giving it one hundred and ten percent, as the muggles say.”

Tom smirked. Of course he was just trying to lure the adult Jones’s away from their daughter. He was confident Avery and his manticore friend would be more than enough to- The thought got rudely interrupted by a sharp explosion of anger over the Mark. He got the sense that Avery’s friend couldn’t quite cut the mustard. Something about burning his poor feline friend alive or something.

He supposed he could let the crazed overzealous magizoologist sic the rest of his ‘friend’s on the young girl. But really, only the manticore reliably listened to Avery. The other beasts he had in that little suitcase of his were far deadlier, but also totally uncontrollable. He didn’t feel like wrangling a nundu today, so he had Avery retreat for now.

A small loss, but Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be on the verge of winning- Oh, never mind. The Jones girl came to Spider-Man’s rescue. And Crabbe and Goyle, while absolutely deadly in close quarters, weren’t very good duelers. So, he recalled them as well.

Which meant, it was time for plan B. Well, modified plan B. He wasn't _quite_ so intent on killing them all now, after their consistent display of magical skill across the board.

_ “Gentleman, please form up on me. Macnair, Lucius, I trust you’re feeling slightly more recuperated?”  _ Voldemort psychically said to his minions.

He got the affirmative, so he ordered Lucius and Macnair to fly down from the rooftops. Avery zipped by a few moments later, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. Tom ordered his minions to form a chanting circle, while he kept Rowan and Monique busy.

They were good, very, very good. But Tom was better. Once he got serious he was able to keep them busy easily enough and thus let his friends get to work.

The Death Eaters chanted in unison, waving their wands in synchronized patterns. Eventually, wisps of fire and shadow erupted from their wands and formed into the vague shape of an animal.

They summoned the fiendfyre, it would be up to Tom to control it. He sent the Jones’s scrambling with an overpowered blasting curse, then leapt back towards the still amorphous blob of cursed fire.

He formed a powerful shield around him as he sailed through the air, then he and his shield got engulfed in the flame. But that was all according to plan. Once inside the fiendfyre, he could give it shape and form. And of course, he turned it into a massive serpent. 

The Death Eaters mounted their brooms as the conjured fire grew larger and larger. They now had to keep a decent distance while still adding literal magical fuel to the fire, lest they get caught up in it and consumed themselves.

Rowan and Monique took one look at the growing conflagration, then glanced at each other, and wordlessly came to the same conclusion. There was no way they could fight that with just the two of them. They only had one option: run.

They cast a haste charm on each other and ran like hell. The fiendfyre construct was extremely powerful, but not the fastest thing in the world. Not if you wanted to keep control of it. Plus, he couldn’t move too fast or unexpectedly, lest he disrupt his minions. It was actually an extremely impressive feat of discipline that not only were they synchronized casting, but they were continuing to do it while mounted on brooms. 

Despite that, he urged the fiendfyre beast to move as fast as it possibly could, and used its immense size and length to herd the Jones’s back to the ruined courtyard. It wasn’t unlike playing a massive game of snake, actually.

And eventually, he forced his quarry all the way back to where their duel started. He watched them bemusedly from his perch atop the snake’s massive forehead as they tried in vain to conjure a massive rock wall to stop him.

It was but a minor obstacle for the fiendfyre beast, who punched through it almost like it wasn’t even there.

* * *

The Jones’ family collectively conjured shield charms to stop the flaming rock debris. Then they were forced to extend the shield as the fiendfyre beast coiled its massively long body around them. Just like before, MJ had the class gather as tightly as they could so the shield could be as small as possible, and therefore have more magic concentrated in it. And hopefully that would be enough to keep the cursed fire away...

“H-how do we beat that?” Peter asked.

Monique shook her head. “I… don’t know if we can…” She winced, putting more proverbial juice into the shield charm as the heat started to seep through.

Thankfully, Voldemort wasn’t urging the snake to really constrict them. He seemingly only wanted to keep them on the verge of being cooked alive, instead of instantly incinerated. The Death Eaters on brooms hovered above the coiling body, well within everyone’s sight.

“If we could disrupt his chanters, we might be able to bust through…” Rowan said.

Unfortunately, Peter’s webs would never survive the heat passed the shield, and the Jones family was literally putting all their effort into keeping the shield up.

“H-how long can you guys keep this up?” Flashed asked.

MJ winced. “Dunno, depends on them,” she said vaguely gesturing to Voldemort and the Death Eaters. “Technically he could incinerate us at any time. The only reason the shield is working at all is because the snake’s body isn’t coiled very tight.”

Which begged the question… Why was he bothering to keep them alive?

They got their answer a few moments later when the head of the snake lowered to the ground and disgorged a bright blue shimmering ball from it’s mouth. Inside of which was Voldemort himself.

“You know, it would truly be a tremendous waste to kill you,” Voldemort said. “Rowan, Monique, I remember how skilled you were from the first war, and since then you've only improved by leaps and bounds. And your daughter…” He gestured to the still intact pelt of the manticore. “Truly you’ve taught her well. Your family is incredibly talented.”

“Where are you going with this?” Rowan growled, the rage barely contained.

Voldemort smirked. “Your kind of talent is rare indeed. And in this... brave new world I find myself in, I require as much real talent as I can find.” He gestured to the fire snake circling them all, “and as you can clearly see, you aren’t in any position to refuse.”

Rowan clenched his teeth so hard they almost cracked. “Why would I ever work with you?”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, the obvious retort on his tongue. Then Monique stepped in.

“R-rowan…” she said, her voice cracking with terror and vulnerability in a way Rowan had never heard before.

And of course she was afraid, but not for herself. Michelle and Peter huddled together in each other’s arms. Monique had them all in a bear hug, trying to protect them from the heat. The rest of the class was similarly huddled together, awaiting the inevitable.

And Rowan realized, his own fear of losing his family was far greater than the hatred he bore for Voldemort. “I... I’m listening...”

Voldemort smirked. “Very good. Now, here’s what we’re going to do-” he began, then he was cut off by the shrillest yell he’d ever heard, coming from somewhere above him.

They all collectively looked up and gasped at the sight of a skinny bespectacled kid on a broom and an ancient crone shrieking as she clutched onto his body. The Firebolt Supreme lurched as Marie leapt from her perch and free fell into the battlefield. Harry wasn’t concerned though. That was according to plan. Now he had to focus on executing his part of the plan. 

Harry zipped around on his ridiculously fast and maneuverable broom, taking pot shots at mounted Death Eaters and expertly dodging their counterattacks. They had to abandon controlling and fueling the fiendfyre entirely, for even though Harry was only tossing schoolyard jinxes and hexes their way, any distraction while manipulating fiendfyre had the potential to be fatal. 

In any case, they believed capturing  _ the  _ Harry Potter would be their ticket to infinite adulation from their master, so they all focused on trying to catch him.

Harry really had to put his seeker skills to the test to avoid the six Death Eaters. Luckily, none of them could fly all that well. Plus, all of them with wands had nothing on Fred and George with beater’s bats and bludgers. So, it was all too easy for Harry to lead them on a merry chase through the city.

And honestly, despite being chased by murderous Death Eaters, Harry hadn’t had this much fun in  _ ages _ . Sure, Harry hadn’t flown in a while since the Triwizard Tournament had cancelled the Quidditch Cup. But still, he was practically born to fly a broom, natural talent built on years of being the best Seeker in Hogwarts. So he cackled like a madman, not really too concerned about the inherent danger of the situation, as he casually tossing bat-bogey hexes and confundus charms at his pursuers. He even managed to cause one of them to careen into a building when they fell for his Wronski feint.

He was having so much fun that he was almost sad to see the Death Eaters eventually retreat. But, he supposed, they had a very good reason to flee.

As Marie fell, she enshrouded herself in purple fire, and punched her way into the head of the fiendfyre snake.

Tom thought the crazy old woman had just offed herself, then the purple fire began to spread, slowly taking over and reshaping the fiendfyre form. Then, once his Death Eaters abandoned controlling it, she was able to completely commandeer it.

She kept it as a snake, but instead of being vaguely basilisk shaped, she added some long arcing horns to it’s head. Marie, along with her blue shield, erupted from the juncture of the horns, creating a kind of jeweled forehead look for her horned serpent fiendfyre construct.

Tom’s eyes widened when the snake slithered it’s way closer. He could tell the person who just took over his fiendfyre was Marie Laveau (the Second), the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. 

If this was the beginning of the fight, and he was going one on one with her, he could probably win.  _ Probably _ . But, seeing as he had just burned a lot of magic on an impressive, but also largely superfluous shield of transfigured debris, then followed that up by forming and controlling a five hundred feet long fiendfyre snake… Well, now he didn’t fancy his chances. 

He didn’t wanna retreat without putting on some kind of show of fighting back, however. His reputation would be in tatters if he just ran straight away. So instead he tossed some pretty powerful counterspells in a half hearted attempt to dissipate the fiendfyre. Obviously, it didn’t work. But, it was enough to give the old crone some trouble with single handedly controlling the beast. 

That was all he could hope for, realistically, so he channeled one more psychic order through the Mark.  _ “Gentleman, I do believe it is time to retreat. We’ve been outmaneuvered today, but trust me, this is far from over.” _

He leapt into the air, flying on a cloud of shadow. A cloud that had started to dissipate. He must have used more magic than he thought. It was a good thing he had Lucius obtain brooms for all of them, even though personally Tom could fly unassisted. But, it looked like he didn’t have the magic for that right now, so he had to suffer the minor humiliation of falling a couple dozen feet while he retrieved the miniaturized broom from his pocket, returned it to normal scale, mounted it, and finally flew off.

He stifled a laugh as the Starsweeper XXI accelerated ridiculously fast. Tom would be sure to thank Lucius at some point. He must have spent a fortune on unmarked and unregistered racing brooms. Despite the unfortunate way his plans ultimately played out, he could help but laugh as the modern marvel of magical engineering carried him out of Prague.

“W-wait, we’re alive?” Flash asked, watching in shock as the scary red eyed guy flew off with his masked minions.

“Holy shit, we’re alive!” Ned shouted, before he and Betty engaged in a celebratory make-out.

The Joneses were busy for a while as they helped Marie dispel the fiendfyre. The curse was literally devilishly difficult to banish, even when the caster or controller really wanted it gone. Marie had to submerge it in the Vtlava river, while Michelle, Monique and Rowan enchanted the water to keep it from just boiling off.

Eventually that was enough to kill the dangerous fire beast, and MJ finally allowed herself to feel relief. Even though they won, that fiendfyre could have still rampaged out of control and killed them all. But thankfully it didn’t. 

“Meemaw!” MJ shouted as she finally was able to embrace her now soaking wet great-great-great grandmother.

“Oh, hello Mimi. You okay?” She asked as she returned the embrace.

“Yeah, I… I think I am,” MJ replied.

“Meemaw!” It was Monique’s turn to cry out and embrace her great-great grandmother.

“Aw, i’s good to see you too sugah.” Marie laughed. After being worried for so long, it was such a relief to be able to hold her kin.

She spied Rowan standing awkwardly a few feet away. “Naw, you get in here too, tree-boy.”

Rowan smiled and gratefully accepted the multi-generational family group hug.

Meanwhile, Harry pootled down to the crowd of assembled muggles. He was still a little instinctively apprehensive about blatantly flying his broom around them. But, considering what they just witnessed, it might be a moot point.

He spotted Spider-Man looking awkward at the outer edge of the small celebratory crowd.

“Spider-Man,” Harry said, giving him a nod as he landed.

“Bespectacled lad,” Peter replied, unsure of what to call him. Were all these magic people superheroes or something? 

* * *

**MACUSA Headquarters, Manhattan**

**Department of Magical Law Enforcement**

The migraine of a lifetime pounded around Victor Edward’s skull as he made his way from his office to an interrogation room. His day had started off well. He had a wonderful date with a beautiful witch the night before and  _ ahem _ woke up very happy. Unfortunately, despite that early high, his day plummeted from there.

First, he got word from his two top aurors that the new Avenger he’d been seeing plastered all over no-maj news was in fact a rogue wizard. Then, all of Czechia got covered in an anti-apparition ward, killing dozens of wizards and grievously injuring dozens more in a mass splinching accident. Ninety percent of his department were away in various parts of the Czech Republic, disarming stolen experimental IWP rune wards and obliviating the general populace. The one saving grace with the whole incident was that no-maj electrical devices were pretty much universally knocked out, so they didn’t have to worry about purging no-maj social media or anything. Sure, people could spout nonsense on forums, but without convincing evidence all they’d attract would be tin-foil hat wearing conspiracy yahoos.

_ Then _ he got word from Monique and Rowan that the rogue wizard was apparently ol’ Moldy Shorts himself. He apparently tried his hand at executing plans outside of the British Isle, which worried Victor greatly. 

He had just gotten off of an infuriating floo call with Minister Fudge, who was still adamant that Moldy Shorts wasn’t back, Victor’s most trusted and experienced aurors were lying for some inextricable reason, and most absurdly, that the rogue wizard known as Mysterio was obviously working with Sirius Black. It was all enough to make Victor ‘accidentally’ take a measure of Ogden’s Old with his calming draught and go to sleep for a week.

But before he could get to that, he had to interrogate a no-maj high school class that had witnessed damn near everything. He would have just had Monique and Rowan deal with it, but considering who exactly was involved, it would be a considerable conflict of interest to let them be involved, at least, with the interrogation process. He took solace in the fact that this was probably going to be the easiest (and hopefully last) thing he dealt with that day.

A notion that went out the window when he saw Madame Marie Laveau sitting with the no-maj’s and chatting amicably with them. Oh boy, this was going to certainly be...  _ an experience _ . 

“Madame, your presence is hardly necessary here,” Victor said, his duster jacket billowing as he aggressively took his seat. He laid his wide brim hat down on the table, wanting nothing more than to light a cigarette, but that would probably be inappropriate. 

Marie’s eyebrow rose. “Really? Well then, y’all forgive me if’n I stick around. It’s hard to get these old bones up and outta a chair.”

She was just a tad surprised when he confidently looked her in the eye. But of course, he was a trained auror, so it was really hard for her to get a read on him. What she did get was the vague sense that he thought this entire process useless, that he really rather not be there, and in all honesty this whole thing was a just for show to keep his bosses off his neck.

“Look, we’re here because we saw some stuff we shouldn’t, right?” A nervous looking man with extremely thick glasses began. One Roger Harrington, if Victor remembered correctly.

The jumpy schoolteacher continued. “Well, let me assure you, my students and I won’t breathe a word of this-”

“Speak for yourself,” Flash interrupted. “First thing I do when I get home is livestream a- OW!” Flash yelled, as Betty angrily stomped on his foot.

Victor sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s for reasons like that,” he said gesturing to the boy hopping on one leg, “that we’ve already made the decision to employ memory charms.”

“Wait, we’ll forget… everything? The whole trip?” Peter asked, incensed.

“Naw ya won’t boy,” Marie said. “You n’ Mimi are together right? Romantically speaking?”

Peter looked to MJ, who took his hand and nodded.

“Yes, we are together,” MJ reiterated.

Victor sighed, in defeat or relief, it was hard to tell. The MACUSA had very different provisions on the Statute of Secrecy when it came to a magical person being romantically involved with a no-maj. In Britain, one had to marry their significant other before being able to tell their family about the existence of magic. And even then, it only extended to immediate non-magical family only.

That caused a lot of marital strife, a lot of trauma for half-blood kids. So the MACUSA changed the provisions so that the magical person only had to verbally acknowledge the relationship and they could involve their no-maj partner as deeply as they wanted in their magical life, provided they didn’t tell anyone outside their immediate family. And, well, if the relationship didn’t work out, there were always memory charms.

“Well,” Victor said, “Unless this is a… very progressive relationship, she can’t be romantically involved with all of you,” he said as he produced a large sheet of parchment. “Thankfully, I’ve been authorized to offer a more nuanced solution.”

The instant Marie saw the parchment she knew the kids and teachers proverbially ‘won’. There was no way for a magically binding contract to affect a no-maj, since there was no magical core for the contract to interact with. But, the kids and teachers didn’t know that, and that was the important thing.

“Wait, so lemme get this straight,” Mr. Dell said after skimming the document, “either we sign this thing, which will automatically wipe our memories in the event  _ one _ of us spills the beans, or we get our memories wiped anyway? Doesn’t seem much of a choice to me.”

Victor sighed heavily. He really didn’t wanna deal with this anymore. “Look, you and the kids can either sign the document and keep your memories, provided you don’t talk about it to anyone. Or I can take you into the back room and wipe them myself here and now. That is, in fact, a choice.”

That seemed to impart the seriousness of the situation nicely. One of them, the filipino kid, got the ball rolling. He picked up the quill and at least attempted to sign his name. “Hey, can I get a regular ball-point or something? I have no idea how to write with this thing…”

Victor rolled his eyes and transfigured the quill into a regular bic pen. Ned nodded in thanks and signed his name properly. And one by one, the class and teachers signed the magical NDA that realistically couldn’t affect them anyway, but he had to make a show out of at least attempting to keep the Statute intact.

He considered the situation handled, and let Rowan and Monique deal with copying and recording all their memories. Not that he could use them to prove to Fuckhead Fudge that Moldy Shorts was back. Memories were inadmissible as evidence due to the subjective nature of memory itself and how easy it was to modify them, even without magical means.

But, they would be useful to review Moldy Shorts’s newfound tactics. Openly working in the no-maj world was so outside his normal wheelhouse it actually really did make Victor wonder if they were in fact dealing with the real deal, or if it was just a mad rogue wizard after all, capitalizing on the terror Death Eater iconography evoked.

In any case, that was something for Tomorrow Victor to handle. Today Victor’s only job was to throw back a couple shots after a very long, very hard day’s work. He was about to punch out and head to his favorite bar, when he got one last work related text. Turns out, Today Victor had one last very important thing to deal with.

He went back to his office and ran the tip of his wand along a particular book in his bookshelf. The entire piece of furniture automatically transfigured itself into a hidden floo fireplace. It was one that his ‘official’ bosses in the MACUSA had no idea about, given to him by his ‘unofficial’ bosses in the International Department of Mysteries. Victor stepped through it without uttering a destination. This particular floo only went to one place: SHIELD Headquarters.  
  
Imagine his surprise when he met Nick Fury, face to face.

"I thought you were dead," Victor said as he shook his counterparts hand.

Fury rolled his eyes, "Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated." 

It was Victor's turn to roll his eyes at the dumb reference. "Indeed. So, how _did_ you manage to survive?"

Victor got his answer when Nick led him to the morgue. The broken bodies of nearly a dozen green... creatures lay on the tables.

"What are they?" Victor asked, kneeling to look at them closer.

"Skrulls. Shapeshifting aliens that came to earth a couple decades ago seeking asylum. SHIELD gave it to them, provided that some of them did some high level espionage work for us." Nick said, just as a living skrull woman opened the morgue doors. 

She took one look at two of the bodies laid together and collapsed into a sobbing heap. Fury took the time to console the woman, rubbing her back until the sobs subsided. As Nick consoled her, he couldn't help but feel his anger start to boil over. These were the best skrull agents SHIELD employed. They were so skilled in shapeshifting that their bodies reverted to their natural state hours and hours after they died. Besides that... they were some of his longest held and most cherished friends.

Fury turned to Victor, clearly irate. "Vic, I like you. We've been on good terms for a long time. And SHIELD has let the magical community get away with some egregious things in the past. But this," he gestured to the broken bodies of the aliens, "this is something we cannot ignore."

Vic felt himself getting a little heated. "Maybe if you told them what they were dealing with, they wouldn't have gotten themselves killed."

Fury's one good eye burned with barely contained rage. "We saw no need. You _assured_ us that you could keep the dangerous elements of your society in check. We never told the skrulls about the magical elements of earth, because we were keeping to terms _your_ people set for us! But now, on top of aliens, murderous robots, deceitful Norse gods, _and all the other shit I gotta deal with on a daily basis,"_ Nick was openly screaming now, _"no_ _w I gotta deal with crazed wizards!"_

Nick took a deep breath. Yelling would get him nowhere. "Look. Here's what's going to happen," Nick said, "you are going to go back to your crazy topsy turvy international magical government. You are going to tell them that SHIELD knows about this... Voldemort character. And you will tell them that they will deal with him quickly, quietly, efficiently, and most importantly, _immediately_... otherwise SHIELD is going to get involved. And you know exactly what we're capable of..."

Vic retreated to home after that ill fated meeting. The first thing he did was break out his best bottle of firewhisky and polished it off as fast as he could without incinerating his throat. He drank and drank, trying in vain to come up with a plan to broach this subject with his superiors. Then, in a thoroughly drunken stupor, he saw his salvation. Mixed in with his stack of work papers was the copy of the complementary issue of the _Daily Prophet_ he received thanks to his position. Normally the rag wasn't worth the paper it was printed on, but the headline ' _Dumbledore: Daft or Dangerous?_ 'gave him an idea...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Sorry it took so long to post. In my defense, I did say that my previous upload schedule was untenable. But, I like to think the added length (and hopefully quality) makes up for it?
> 
> Anyway, there are some things I wanna address in this fic that I don't think was appropriate to say in the chapter itself. Chief among them is that Doctor Strange and all the mystical stuff surrounding him... sadly won't be in this fic. Which is really sad for me because he is honestly one of the most interesting characters in the MCU, at least to me. And trust me, I tried forever to try and come up with a way to incorporate him into this story in a way that wasn't totally jarring, but nothing really works. The simple fact that Strange (and by extension, the Ancient One) and Voldemort cannot exist at the same time. Like, the whole purpose of the Sorcerer Supreme is to deal with magical and mystical threats before they effect the 'normal' world. The instant a crazed genocidal wizard got any modicum of true power, he'd almost instantaneously find himself tossed into the Mirror Dimension without so much as a 'by your leave'.
> 
> Because the simple fact is that Strange and his powerset is just... stupidly powerful. Like, sure, HP wizards can teleport instantaneously between two points, but Strange can make portals across vast interstellar distances, and like, even into different dimensions. Like. He makes Albus Dumbledore look like a simple street magician by comparison. So... I had to make the difficult decision of cutting Strange from the story entirely. For all intents and purposes, HP takes his place in this fic. Which means certain things about the MCU stuff is going to have to be tweaked. Like... I'm still trying to sort out how the Time Stone was dealt with, but I think I have an idea that might actually be kinda cool. 
> 
> Anywho, I think that covers everything I wanted to cover, at least story wise. So, as always, comments are welcome, along with constructive criticism. And like... Also, I've been having issues trying to like... market this thing, if that makes sense. I am a very new writer on AO3. Well, I've been writing here for a while, but it's never been very consistent. Anywho. If anyone has any tips on how I should change the tags or summary to better reflect the fic, I'm all ears. Anyway, Ciao!


	11. Chapter 11

The immediate aftermath of the debriefing at MACUSA Headquarters wasn’t as bad as MJ expected. Her parents had a long conversation with her teachers and classmates while they copied their memories into high security pensieves. The class only really knew what MJ was able to tell them in that hour-long period while they were trapped under rock and magma. And to keep them from continuing to freak out, MJ’s parents decided it was probably best to expand their knowledge somewhat. After all, the best way to get over fear of something was to expand one’s own understanding of it.

And honestly, the kids and Mr. Harrington took it real well. Mr. Dell had… reservations, but eventually calmed down as more and more of the reality of magic was explained to him. And really, there wasn’t a whole lot for them to freak out over, in the grand scheme of things. What was a whole magical world compared to like… space aliens and norse gods, really? 

Once the long conversation was over with and copies of their memories safely recorded, the class was ushered to the floo hub to be floo-ed side along by MACUSA officials to JFK International. Since Harry and MJ could just floo straight home, it suddenly hit MJ this would be the last time she’d be talking in person with her boyfriend, at least for a little bit.

“So uh,” MJ said, nervously biting her lip, “that was uh, some trip huh?”

Peter awkwardly sighed, “Yeah…” Personally, he was still grappling with the fact that MJ, and his entire class really, was still alive. “Some trip.”

MJ took a deep breath. “So um… I was thinking… Well, I have a lot of free time now, since it’s summer…” She winced internally. She tended to state the obvious when she got nervous. “So… you wanna do something in a couple days? Uh… or like… if you got Spider-Man stuff to do, I can work around it…”

Peter sighed. “Honestly, I think I’m gonna be hanging up the suit… just for a little while.” His vacation turned into a living nightmare, so he figured he earned a bit of a break. “So, yeah, I guess I’m pretty free.”

MJ nodded, “Okay cool, so uh… how about you come over to my place in a couple days? I have an idea of something fun we can do, but I wanna keep it a surprise.”

Peter genuinely smiled, “Sure… uh… see you then…”

They awkwardly just stood there, unsure of what to do next. Then they simultaneously gathered the requisite courage and leaned in for a quick peck on the lips. Which didn’t feel quite enough for either of them, so they leaned in for another kiss… that quickly turned into a clumsy make-out.

“Blimey, get a room you two,” Harry said with a chuckle.

They separated suddenly, as if electrocuted by a current coming from each other’s lips. Which was perfect timing actually, as Peter was called for his turn to step into the green fire. 

“So, uh… I guess I’ll see you around…” Peter said to MJ’s lanky cousin.

“Harry,” Harry said as he stepped forward to shake Peter’s hand, “Harry Potter.” Honestly, it felt so good to introduce himself to someone without them already knowing who he was beforehand.

“Peter Parker,” Peter said as he returned the handshake. Then he waved awkwardly as he followed Mrs. Jones into the weird fireplace. The last thought he had before consumed and magically transported was how awkward it was to introduce himself to someone only to immediately leave…

* * *

As much as Rowan and Monique felt like they should be there to help get Michelle and Harry settled in, the fiasco in Prague gave them a whole lot of mess to sort out, and not a lot of time to do it. Which meant that Michelle and Harry had to sort themselves out. But first, they had to see Marie off.

“Y’all take care o’ yo’selfs now, ya here?” Marie said before departing for Louisiana. “Keep ‘chother safe.”

“We will Meemaw,” MJ said as she received a kiss to the forehead.

Harry blushed as he got the same treatment.

After that, all that was left was a short awkward floo trip home. MJ and Harry stepped out of the fireplace to a chorus of hisses.

_ “Mamasssss home! Mamassss home!”  _ Zuko and Zilla hissed in unison. They waggled their long bodies, trying in vain to shimmy their way up the glass.

_ “Myy babiessss!”  _ MJ hissed as she picked up the squirming snakes.  _ “Mama missssed you!”  _ She lifted the ecstatic reptiles to her face, giggling as their tongues flicked against her lips.  _ “Oh, thank you for the kissssiesss!”  _ MJ hissed, then planted gentle smoochies against their noses.

Harry coughed, trying to hide his laughter. Honestly, it was one of the sweetest things he’d ever seen. He initially chalked up Zuko and Zilla’s infantilized way of speaking to their relatively young age. But now he got the feeling they talked the way they did because his cousin exclusively baby talked to them. And baby talk in Parseltongue was just… so funny on so many levels.

The snakes froze at the sound of a gentle  _ ‘Hoo’ _ from the corner.

_ “Sssscary birdie!”  _ Zuko hissed.  _ “It be sssstaring at usss all day!” _

Of course Zilla catastrophized, as he always did. _ “It wanna eat ussss!”  _

_ “No, you be okay,”  _ MJ hissed, stroking the spines of her terrified children,  _ “She’ssss good birdie, right?” _ MJ asked Harry, before realizing she was still speaking in Parseltongue.

To her surprise, Harry hissed a reply,  _ “Sssshe won’t hurt them. I like to think I trained her better than that.”  _ Harry let Hedwig perch on his forearm.

“Right Hedwig?” Harry asked, switching to english. “You won’t hurt my dear cousin’s babies, will you?” He said sternly.

_ “Hoo,”  _ Hedwig replied. Which coming from her was more or less a solemn vow.

That was good enough for MJ, but Zuko and Zilla were still visibly nervous, so MJ returned them to their enclosure, each with a mouse to fill their bellies and hopefully calm them down a little bit.

“You  _ sssspeak?”  _ MJ asked.

Harry nodded, “Yeah, I’m a natural parseltongue.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” MJ replied. “Meemaw can  _ sssspeak _ too. She initially taught me, though I’m not super fluent yet…”

And that left the two cousins to stew in awkward silence. MJ kinda just wanted to retreat to her room. After all, she had a very long day, she deserved to go into full introvert mode. But, she also didn’t wanna make Harry feel unwelcome either. And anyway, she was still hopped up on invigoration draught, so despite how exhausted she felt there was no way she’d be able to sleep any time soon. And that gave her an idea.

“Hey, follow me,” MJ said as she led Harry to a small closet in the hallway that led to the garage.

Inside was the usual stuff, the vacuum, some coats and a half dozen brooms (some for cleaning, some for flying). MJ ushered him in, then followed suit.

“Training room,” MJ said, and the whole closet lurched as it slowly descended.

“Woah,” Harry gasped as the closet halted and MJ opened the doors.

The training room was just that. It had a fairly large dueling circle, complete with configurable cover and automated training dummies. Adjacent to that was a very strange supply closet. Haphazardly piled all over the shelves was what looked like random junk, until Harry realized it was all the objects commonly used in transfiguration practice. He even spied a small menagerie of animals all under status spells, clearly also used for transfiguration practice.

Tucked away in the corner was a brewing station, with its own (mostly) fully stocked supply closet full of various potion ingredients. And next to that was a small cluster of workbenches in front of a large whiteboard, clearly a place for more structured instruction than the dueling circle. And next to that was a fairly large collection of magical tomes, organized somewhat neatly on half a dozen book shelves. It was no Hogwarts Library, but it had far more magical books than most families owned.

“Neat, huh?” MJ asked as she led him to the workbenches. “I’m homeschooled in magic stuff, so mom and dad installed this basement where I can practice.” 

She rummaged around the supply closet, and eventually retrieved two fishbowls, complete with goldfish in stasis. Next she brought out two small perches.

“So I was thinking,” MJ said as she started setting everything up, “well, I need to burn magic cuz I’m still wired from an invigoration draught. And the best way to burn magic is through complicated transfiguration. By the way, you’re going into your fifth year, right?”

Harry nodded.

“Cool, so this little lesson should set you up to get ahead of the curve. You haven’t done goldfish into goldfinches yet, right?” MJ asked.

“No, not yet,” Harry replied. “How do you know if this is something we do in fifth year?”

“Oh, well, I gotta meet Ilvermorny yearly standards. And since Ilvermorny is basically a carbon copy of Hogwarts, I figure they share the same curriculum too.”

Harry shrugged, “Good enough for me.”

“So,” MJ said, adopting her ‘Decathlon Captain’ voice, “the incantation is  _ Piscis Avenum. _ ” She’d throw him a bone and at least give him that much.

Harry nodded, wand poised. Then he realized something. “Uh… what about the wand movements?”

MJ rolled her eyes, “Oh no, bucko, we don’t do things that easily around here. You know the movement alphabet right? Well, figure it out.”

Harry groaned. Oh, she was just as bad as Professor McGonnagall. “Okay, well… do you have an Arithmancy reference book or something?”

Again, MJ rolled her eyes, “Oh must I do everything for you?” But then she smirked and wordlessly summoned the requisite book from the library.

Harry spent the next half an hour meticulously figuring out each and every arithmetic calculation. First he had to figure out how many wand movements were required. Then, he had to figure out which specific wand movements,  _ then _ he had to figure out the specific order. 

And he couldn’t mess it up, because the results of botched animal transfiguration was always pretty grotesque, even if it was fairly easy to reverse. Finally, after checking and double checking, Harry was confident enough in his work to attempt the transfiguration.

_ “Piscis Avenum,” _ Harry said, with the accompanying flurry of complex wand movements.

MJ winced. Oh, he was so close, but he transposed two movements near the end and…

The goldfish levitated out of the water, but instead of transforming into a beautiful golden bird, Harry had created a hideous amalgam of fish and bird that David Cronenberg himself would have found just a little bit sickening.

“Oh, gross,” MJ said, covering her lips with the back of her hand.

She quickly untransfigured the mess back into a simple goldfish. That was the good thing about transfiguration. Even the grossest, most disgusting mistakes of nature could be easily reverted back to their original form, so long as you didn’t leave it in that state so long that it died or something.

At the risk of seeing another vaguely bird shaped blob of scales and fins, MJ decided to give Harry the correct wand movement order. Then she proceeded to demonstrate the proper execution of the spell.

“ _ Piscis Avenum,”  _ MJ said with the utmost confidence.

She produced a near perfect goldfinch, though she noticed the feathers had a decidedly scaly looking color pattern.

“Huh, maybe I need to brush up on this one,” MJ said as she observed the bird. It certainly acted like a bird. And aside from the color pattern on the feathers, it certainly looked like a bird. Though, it had a disturbing tendency to not blink, as if it didn’t realize that was necessary.

Harry decided to try again. This time, his goldfish turned into a hybrid that was maybe eighty percent bird, twenty percent fish. It had a decent enough beak, but it’s eyes bulged like a fish. The wings looked more or less like wings, though the feathers near the end had a distinct fin like quality. It’s legs were mostly avian, but it’s webbed feet didn’t have any real claws to speak of. And worst of all, it made a distressing gasping sound like it could only  _ mostly _ breathe air.

“Compared to your first attempt, that one was actually pretty good,” MJ said as she untransigured the hybrid creature back into a normal goldfish.

MJ’s next attempt yielded a goldfinch with absolutely zero fish qualities. While Harry’s… well, at least his could confidently breathe air.

Harry continued refining his technique with each subsequent attempt. And thankfully, he was seeing consistent improvement. They weren’t absolutely perfect, though. They didn’t really move with the usual avian twitchiness. In fact, it really didn’t move much at all, and when it did it tended to move with a slow motion-esque quality, like it was moving underwater. But, that was a result that would have at least gotten him an Acceptable by McGonnagall’s standards, so he figured that was good enough.

Meanwhile, MJ got bored of turning fish into birds… at least, she got bored of doing it the ‘normal’ way. She sheathed her wand, dipped her finger into the cool water of the fishbowl, and touched the fish.

And to Harry’s shock, the fish leapt out of the water, landed on the table and turned into a… somewhat bird-like fish… thing… It flopped on the table, uselessly flapping its feathery fins, its beak like mouth clicking as its gill sacs weren’t quite lung like enough to take in air, but could no longer get oxygen from water either.

MJ quickly ended it’s suffering by drawing her wand and turning it back into a fish. The poor little goldfish zipped around the bowl in a panic, apparently remembering it’s recent ordeal.

“Oh, I’m sorry little buddy…” MJ whispered. “Here…” she shook her wand over the bowl like she was shaking salt or something, and little flakes of fish food fell like snow on the surface of the water.

The goldfish greedily gulped the flakes, but stared almost… vengefully at MJ. Well, as vengefully as a goldfish could, that is.

“W-what was that?” Harry asked.

MJ sighed, “Yeah, I know, even without a wand I should have done better than that…”

Harry shook his head, “No, I mean… how did you do that without a wand?”

MJ nodded, “Oh, right. You do know wands are like… technically optional right? In fact, a lot of cultures don’t use any magical foci at all. Take voodoo for example. That’s an entire branch, well, one branch of another branch…” MJ sighed. Oh, she was going off into the weeds, but this would send her off on a totally different and mostly irrelevant tangent, so as much as she wanted to explain the nuances of voodoo, she had to swing back to her point.

“Okay, so basically voodoo is an entire branch of magic that… well, I won’t say it doesn’t use foci, but they don’t traditionally use anything that you’d recognize as a modern european wand. It uses gris-gris amulets and other voodoo paraphernalia, but like, you can’t wave a gris-gris amulet around and produce the kind of magic you can from a wand.”

Harry decided to take a break from turning fish into birds. This conversation was much more interesting. He then remembered something… “I never once saw your grandmum draw her wand. She did all that stuff with the fire without one, didn’t she?”

MJ nodded, “Yeah, Meemaw learned magic without a wand, and honestly if you gave her one I doubt she’d know how to use it. She can do some fantastic things that I wouldn’t have a hope or a prayer of doing with a wand, but like, most of that is because she’s so goddamn old. She’s had literally one hundred and seventy something years of practice.”

Harry cocked his head, “She seemed pretty knowledgeable about wands. She was able to take the Trace off mine.”

“Oh, she knows their function and how to subtly influence how they work,” MJ said, “Like removing the Trace, for example. It’s just that she doesn’t really know how to intuitively pick one up and use it like a foci in the same way we can.”

“So what can you do without a wand? Aside from turning fish into bird-like crimes against nature?” Harry asked.

“Oh, well…” She turned towards the dummy targets in the dueling circle. MJ took a deep breath, focused on her intent, and snapped her arm towards the dummy. A small arc of red energy leapt from her fingertip and smacked into the chest of the dummy. It wobbled on it’s stand, but otherwise nothing else happened.

“Not the best stunner in the world,” MJ admitted, “but it can make someone stumble, at least.”

Harry blinked in shock. Even a weak stunner could be invaluable in the (likely) event that he lost his wand in a duel or something. “Can you teach me?”

“Eh,” MJ shrugged, “maybe, but it would take forever. That,” she said gesturing to the still rocking dummy, “was the result of like, four and a half years of practice.”

She trailed off as she realized how interested he was in this particular topic. It was better to feed into his passions rather than bore him with something he’d hardly ever use in the real world…

MJ sighed, “Okay, so. The key to wandless magic is in three things, intent, focus and visualization…”

Two hours later and Harry was finally able to produce a small red spark that quickly fizzled out a few inches away from his fingers.

“Hey, that’s pretty good! That’s more than I could do my first day of practicing wandless magic,” MJ said when she noticed Harry getting progressively more dour.

“I suppose…” Harry replied, obviously a little discouraged.

“Oh no, I’m not gonna let you downplay your progress,” MJ said with her hands on her hips. “I know it’s not much, but it's more than you could do when you started. And in any case, it’s still more useful than you think. Trust me, I wouldn’t wanna be zapped by that. I imagine it would be a lot like getting poked with a cattle prod.”

That seemed to cheer Harry up. Then, he got that look on his face that MJ recognized as a teenager about to do something stupid. Before she could stop him, he zapped his hand, just to see what it was like.

“Ow!” Harry cried, flapping his injured hand around. He uttered a string of curses that would have made even Ron gasp.

“Okay, dumbass,” MJ said, stifling her giggles. “I think that’s our cue to call it. Besides, there is such a thing as practicing in mistakes.”

“So,” MJ said as the closet began its ascent, “it occurs to me that we’ve gone our entire lives without knowing about each other.”

“Yes…” Harry nodded, unsure where she was going with this.

The closet lurched to a halt, and they stepped back into the living room.

“Well,” MJ said as she made her way to the kitchen. “I think we should change that, don’t you think?” It suddenly hit her how hungry she was, but luckily she hit the best paydirt possible. “Oh sweet, Meemaw made gumbo!”

She made herself a bowl and plopped down on the couch next to Harry. He kind of collapsed under the pressure of her expectant stare.

“So…” Harry began awkwardly.

“Okay, so I’m gonna be honest,” MJ said between spoonfuls of gumbo. “I kinda know your whole deal as far as stuff at Hogwarts goes. I mean, so does most of the magical world, but I digress. That doesn’t mean I know  _ you _ if you get what I mean.”

“Right,” Harry nodded, “Well, I guess I should just start from the beginning. So my earliest memories are of the cupboard under the stairs…”

MJ listened with rapt attention and slowly growing horror. No wonder her dad never talked about his family, the Dursley’s sounded awful. Then Harry moved on to his experiences at school. The  _ Wizarding World News _ may have factually covered Harry’s exploits at Hogwarts, but they didn’t really go into detail about things from his perspective. The way Harry talked about his experiences almost made her feel like she was learning about it for the first time.

“So yeah, turns out one of the two good Defence Against the Dark Arts professors I’ve had was also a Death Eater in disguise,” Harry finished. 

“Oh jeez, I can’t imagine…” MJ said.

At the risk of being swallowed up by an awkward silence, Harry asked, “So what’s muggle school like?” Outside of his early primary education, Harry had very little experience with muggle school, and he had a feeling the snippets of the teen dramas he was able to catch over Dudley’s shoulder didn’t do the system justice.

“Oh, it’s a lot of what you’d expect. I mean, aside from the fact that it’s a science and technology specialized private school. Though,” MJ paused, “there was the time my class got trapped in the collapsing elevator of the Washington Monument and had to be rescued by Spider-Man. Fun fact, that’s when I first figured out he was Peter.”

“Wait, what?” Harry asked.

“Oh, of course it was Peter,” MJ elaborated. “He came with us to DC for Decathlon nationals, but almost immediately disappeared. Then while he was gone, Spider-Man swoops in and saves my class. Yeah, I mean… come on.”

MJ continued to explain about how her the dad of their Decathlon team captain turned out to be a gun runner, and how Spider-Man stopped him. She wanted to keep the conversation going, because she was actually having a pretty cool time just talking about whatever with her cousin. But her recent rather extensive use of magic and her three bowls of gumbo seemed to unlock just how tired she was after staying up for almost thirty hours straight.

Of course Harry understood, but seeing as it was only eight thirty, he wasn’t nearly tired yet. So instead of going to bed, Harry decided to get started on the list of movies Rowan insisted that he watch. 

Meanwhile, MJ trundled up to her room, changed into her comfiest pajamas and hopped into bed. And like any child of her generation, she checked her phone real quick before going to bed. And lo and behold, she got a text from a very important person.

**Peter:** Hey

Oh boy. That didn’t look good. One word cryptic texts always set MJ’s teeth on edge.

**MJ:** Hey is for horses

Was it a dumb reply? Yes, yes it was. But she was kind of panicking right now.

**Peter:** I’m not so good at convo through text

**Peter:** You mind if we do a video call?

**MJ:** Sure

She picked up after the first ring, and her screen filled with Peter’s face.

“So what’s up?” MJ asked.

Peter looked pretty out of it. The shock of the day had finally worn off and he was beginning to process the reality of it… again.

“I just…” Boy, he looked really distraught. “I don’t wanna sound clingy but uh… I just… had to see you. I mean uh… There was a three hour period where I thought you were de-” he caught himself, like he still had trouble saying it. “Where I thought you were gone. But you aren’t gone and I…”

His cheeks flushed and his eyes got a little glassy.

“Oh hey,” MJ said, stroking the screen. “I understand. But it’s okay. I’m okay now, you don’t have to worry.”

“I know,” Peter sniffed. “I know I should feel relieved but all I feel is anxious.”

MJ bit her lip. “Hey, I’m free tomorrow. You wanna come over? Harry is a tad out of touch with non-magical media. He could use some help getting caught up. Plus I just wanna see you.”

Peter genuinely smiled. “Sure, I’d like that.” He took a deep breath, and tried to let that ever present anxiety go. He thought maybe talking about something else would help.

“So uh, how was your day after you got home?”

“Oh,” MJ shrugged, “Pretty good. Got to know my cousin better. Taught him how to turn goldfish into goldfinches, you know, the usual.”

Peter blinked. “Wait, what? You can turn fish into birds?”

MJ shrugged, “Oh yeah. It’s not the easiest thing to do in the world, but yeah.”

She smiled as Peter immediately got more animated. That was the human golden retriever she knew (and loved?).

“Wow, that’s really cool,” he said excitedly. “What else can you do?”

MJ smirked. “Oh, lots of stuff. I’d say the sky is the limit, but with a good broomstick even the sky is within reach.”

“Oh yeah, I was going to ask about that… so that was a broomstick your cousin was flying around on?”

MJ nodded, “Yeah,” then she fake scowled, “the lucky dumbass has a Firebolt Supreme. It’s a premier racing broom. The best I got is my dad’s hand-me-down Comet 290.”

“Is that… good?” Peter asked.

“Kinda?” MJ shrugged. “It was a really good broom… back in the nineties. Nowadays it's the equivalent of, like, a Ford Mondeo.”

Peter knew nothing about cars, but he got the general gist. 

“So what about you?” MJ asked, “How did your day go?”

It was Peter’s turn to shrug. “Well, I talked to May about… everything.”

MJ got a little nervous. “How did she take the magic thing?”

“Pretty good, all things considered,” Peter replied. “Then I talked to Sam. Uh, you’d probably know him as Falcon. He’s going to be doing the ‘friendly neighborhood superhero’ thing for New York for a… while.”

MJ thought it was actually a really good idea for Peter to take a break, but she still had to ask… “So… how long are you going to be hanging up the suit?”

“I… don’t know. I know for sure it’s not going to be permanent, though.”

MJ really, really wanted to keep talking with Peter, but if she was tired before, she was even more exhausted now. 

“Hey uh… I dunno about you, but I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open,” MJ said, stifling a yawn.

“Oh, sure.” Peter replied. “Good night…”

“S-sweet dreams,” MJ stuttered. It was weird and sappy, but she kind of panicked. Goodbyes were definitely not her strong suit.

Peter smiled, kissed his fingers and pressed them to the camera, and ended the call.

MJ giggled, holding her phone to her chest for a second before setting it on her nightstand. And almost as soon as her head hit her pillow, she drifted off into a deep, thankfully dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, that was a long one. I know there wasn't a whole lot of 'plot' in this chapter, but like. The fic up until now has been pretty frenetic, I think it's about time I let the characters breathe and process all the craziness, ya know? Oh also, I know most people won't care at all about this, but I don't really like how arithmancy is used in canon. It's kind of like... crackpot numerology to predict the future, which just seems weird to me. So, instead I changed it (as admittedly a lot of people do) to be the mathematical system used to understand and quantify magic. And I know there has been a bit of a delay for this chapter, but I'm trying to pace myself a little bit with this fic so I don't burn myself out on it. Hope y'all understand. I'll try to get the next one out a little more promptly, but no promises. Anyway, ciao!


	12. Chapter 12

Logically speaking, Peter should have been doing great. He had a long talk with his class and teachers about his secret identity, and they all seemed ready to take Peter’s secret to the grave. Even Flash, who Peter thought would be the first to leak his Spider-Man persona, staunchly vowed to keep Peter’s secret. Of course, he got that promise after a sincere apology for the years of bullying. Peter thought he really shouldn’t have had to reveal his secret identity to get that apology, but whatever.

Peter should have been over the moon because after a year of hopeless pining, he and MJ were finally in a relationship. Everything was going much better than one would expect, all things considered. And while he was out at the Avenger’s compound being debriefed by Fury and making arrangements for Sam to take over in New York, he generally felt pretty okay.

His mood started to break down when he got back home and had a long conversation with May about what happened. He didn’t know why, but talking to Fury about what happened didn’t really bother him. Maybe it was the cold, objective precision of a SHIELD debriefing that allowed him to stay a little detached. But talking to May… being able to let his actual feelings out… that was an entirely different story. He didn’t break down in the middle of the conversation or anything… but the instant he was left alone in his room, the anxiety completely took over.

Thank goodness he was able to get a hold of MJ. Talking to her face to face, listening to her talk about her day, that helped ease his anxiety. Though, that only lasted until he drifted off to sleep...

The next thing he knew, he was screaming awake, clutching onto May for dear life. The details of the nightmare faded quickly as he fully awakened, but there were certain images burned into his brain. The first was the dark wizard’s visage, morphing back and forth between (what Peter assumed to be) his original face and Beck’s as he mocked Peter for his naivety.

The second was much more horrifying. It was a mass of charred skeletons all huddled together. Mr. and Mrs. Jones cradled a skeleton at the top of the pile, whose neck was adorned by a black dahlia pendant in perfect condition. They vehemently stared at him, silently accusing him. Their daughter died in agony, and it was all his fault...

“Can you tell me what the nightmare was about?” May asked as she slowly rocked Peter.

“N-no,” Peter stuttered back between sniffles.

“Okay,” May whispered as she ran her fingers through his hair. “You’re okay now, Peter. You’re safe…”

If only Peter was worried about himself…

* * *

Peter wasn’t the only one who had trouble sleeping that night. MJ’s sleep started out dreamless, but the inky void of nothingness quickly transformed into a horrific nightmare. In a terrifying instant, she was back in the tiny little cavern, trapped with her class.

Only this time they weren’t amicably chatting about the nuances of magical society. They surrounded her, screaming obscenities and accusations until finally, their vitriol turned physical and they piled on her.

Someone grabbed and snapped her wand, then the cavern walls started to glow as the moss burst into flame. The heat immolated her classmates, but they didn’t seem to care. Even as their charred and melted like hideous wax figures, they still clawed at her. Even as MJ herself started burning alive, their charred corpses still tore at her melting flesh until-

“Michelle! Baby, it’s okay, wake up!” MJ blinked awake to the panicked faces of her parents.

“M-mama! Daddy!” MJ cried as she buried her face in her mom’s shoulder. She felt her dad wrap his strong arms around her while her mother cradled her head.

“Harry,” Rowan asked over his shoulder, “can you go to our bathroom medicine cabinet? You’ll find a bottle of tablets labeled ‘dreamless sleep’. Drop one into a glass of water, won’t you?”

Harry nodded, and hurried from where he stood awkwardly in the door frame. He returned a little while later with a glass of bubbling water.

MJ’s sobs made it a little bit difficult to hold the glass, but eventually she was able to bring the cup to her lips and gulp down the potion. The ginger flavor burned her throat at first, but also helped calm her down a little bit, even before the true effects of the potion kicked in.

Rowan and Monique held their daughter as her sobs turned into soft hiccups and sniffles. Harry awkwardly sat down at the foot of the bed, only to be pulled into MJ’s trembling embrace. They all huddled like that for a while, Rowan and Monique soothing their daughter with soft whispers while Harry awkwardly sat in MJ’s crushing embrace.

Eventually her arms started to go slack, and her hiccups turned to soft snores. Rowan and Monique gently laid her back in bed and tucked her in like they used to do when she was a child, then quietly shuffled out of the room.

“I”m sorry you had to see that,” Rowan said as he quietly closed MJ’s door. 

Harry leaned against the hallway. “Oh, it’s no problem. I have nightmares too so it's not really a big deal…”

“Even so,” Monique whispered, “thanks for being there for her.”

“Uh… you’re welcome…” Harry said awkwardly before he retreated back to his own room.

He heard his aunt and uncle whisper something about finding a specialist as he closed his door, but he paid it no mind.

* * *

MJ woke up with a groan. Her head pulsed like it was gonna split open any second. That was the thing about dreamless sleep draught, the price for an easy sleep was a killer migraine in the morning. She took the empty cup on her nightstand to the bathroom and downed three glasses of water. Thankfully, the migraine induced by dreamless sleep draught was similar in effect to a mild hangover, and as such could be remedied by staying decently hydrated.

As she opened the bathroom door, her nostrils were assailed by the most delicious smell imaginable. Bacon, fried eggs, toast, sausage… her mouth watered in anticipation as she made her way down the stairs.

Instead of delicious breakfast, she found her parents in a frenzy in the living room. Her mom was running around like a chicken with her head cut off looking for her auror cape, while her dad was showing Harry something on the kitchen table.

“Alright, check this out,” Rowan said as he waved his wand in a circle over a breakfast plate. 

The edges of the porcelain folded in on themselves until the plate turned itself into a chinese takeout box.

“And the best part is, it’ll keep the food warm and in perfect condition until I open it back up at my desk,” Rowan said as he transfigured another plate and put them both in his satchel bag. 

“Wicked,” Harry whispered.

“Yeah, when I get off work I’ll properly teach you how to do it,” Rowan replied.

While Rowan was showing off his transfiguration skills, Monique suddenly realized that she was, in fact, a witch.

“ _Accio_ auror capes!” She said in a hurry.

Though in her panic, she might have cast the spell a little too forcefully, for the pair of auror capes flew down the stairs so fast that they almost took MJ’s legs out from under her.

“Hey, what’s going on?” MJ asked in a huff.

“We got called in to work today,” Rowan said as he stuffed some folders into his bag.

Monique cursed as she untangled the capes and donned hers. “Apparently there was more fallout to the Prague incident than we realized.”

“Hey wait, before you go,” MJ said, catching her parents just as they were about to step into the fireplace, “can Peter come over today?”

Rowan and Monique glanced at each other, doing that thing that long term couples do where they can have an entire conversation within the span of a few looks and expressions.

“Sure,” Rowan said with a nod.

“Just don’t burn the house down,” Monique continued. “Oh, and also… if _things_ happen, remember to use protection!”

Monique cackled as the last thing she saw before getting swept up in green flame was the mortified look on MJ’s face.

MJ groaned and rubbed her temples. The migraine was coming back… Thankfully the other way to get rid of it was food, and there was an ample supply.

Before she could sit down and dig in, she heard soft hissing from her babies’ enclosure.

 _“Mama, you ssssad lassst night…”_ Zuko hissed.

Zilla slithered up to the glass. _“We heard sssscreamssss and crying…”_

 _“Oh my babiessss,”_ MJ said as she picked them up. _“I wasss ssssad, but I’m better now…”_

 _“Sssstill…”_ Zuko replied.

 _“We ssstay with you,”_ Zilla finished.

She let them slither their way into the sleeves of her pajamas and felt them coil their bodies around her shoulders and upper torso. They poked their heads through the collar of her shirt and peppered her chin with little snake licky-kisses. 

MJ giggled as she took her seat at the kitchen table, so thankful to have her babies. They always knew how to make her feel better. Well, the full spread she found at the table didn’t hurt either.

“Holy heck, you made all this?” MJ asked as she marveled at the full English breakfast.

Bacon, sausage, eggs, fried mushrooms and tomatoes, and beans on toast (she could have done without the last part, to be honest), all struggled to fit on her plate.

Harry shrugged, “It’s not that hard, really.”

“Still,” MJ said, feeling a little guilty. She knew how the Dursleys forced him to do their cooking. “You didn’t have to.”

“Oh, well… I actually… I like cooking, really. I find it relaxing.” That was the honest truth. Of all the chores the Dursleys forced on him, the only one he really didn’t mind was cooking.

That was good enough for MJ. Her guilt sated, she went ahead and dug in. And holy crap, it was really good. Even the beans and toast, which she thought might be weird, worked really well together.

MJ scarfed down her breakfast just as Harry started cleaning up the kitchen. “Oh no,” she urged, “you did the cooking, I’ll do the cleaning. It’s only fair.”

Harry awkwardly shrugged and let her take over cleaning duties. He watched her curiously as she scrubbed the pans and plates with soap and water.

“Uh, you can do magic at home right? Why don’t you just clean it with a spell?” he asked.

MJ laughed, “Oh, tell that to mom and dad. They’re big on doing things manually. And even though they’re gone, I’d never get away with it. Dad can sense residual magic, right? So he’d feel it if the plates and stuff were cleaned with _scourgify_.”

“Well, the idea of watching you clean all this by yourself is enough to give me hives,” Harry said as he picked up a sponge. “So how about I clean, and you put stuff away, since you know where everything goes.”

“Fine by me,” MJ relented.

They spent the rest of the late morning cleaning, then MJ got ready for her hangout… date… thing with Peter. 

* * *

Peter thought the black dahlia pendant had an almost unnatural tendency to catch the light _just_ right. He was absolutely shocked that it was still perfectly unharmed, since it was in his pocket the entire time he was fighting in Prague. The necklace should have broken just from him hurriedly stuffing it in the tiny pockets of his skin tight black suit, let alone the fighting itself.

But somehow, against all odds, it was still totally intact. Not only that, but it was completely unblemished, not sporting even a single smudged fingerprint, despite how much he’d been handling it lately.

“You still haven’t given that to MJ yet?” May asked from the driver’s seat of the car.

Peter sighed and put the pendant back in the gift bag. “No… I didn’t have the chance.”

May picked up on her nephew’s mood. He hadn’t been right since his nightmare last night, but staring at the pendant seemed to make him even worse. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just… I dunno… it’s hard to explain,” Peter replied.

Truth be told, he almost felt like the pendant was cursed or something. Seeing it so clearly in his nightmare didn’t help matters.

“Well,” May said as she pulled onto MJ’s street. “You gave up so much for it… I still think you should give it to her.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Peter replied. He started when he realized they were already pulling up to her house. Suddenly he felt very nervous, and try as he might, he couldn’t even unbuckle his seatbelt.

May smirked, then felt a twinge of bittersweet sadness. He froze up just like Ben and Richard used to do… 

“Hey,” she whispered, “don’t freak out. It’s no big deal. Just take a deep breath.”

Peter nodded, then got out of the car almost _too_ quickly. “Uh, I’ll text you if I need a ride,” he said in a hurry. “Oh, uh, love you.”

“Love you too, and just make sure it’s not too late, Casanova,” May replied with a smirk.

And just like that, Peter was left alone in MJ’s driveway. He took another deep breath and walked to the front door. Just as he was about to ring the doorbell, a very excited, or maybe it was nervous, looking MJ opened the door.

“Hey,” she greeted, slightly breathlessly.

“Hey,” Peter replied, equally nervous.

They awkwardly stared at each other, kind of unsure of what to do before MJ mustered up the courage to gently peck him on the lips. And that single act seemed to melt their shared nervousness away. 

“Come on in,” MJ said with a lopsided smile.

Peter glanced around as he entered the cozy home, and felt a twinge of recognition. The layout was slightly different, but the house was kinda similar to the vague memories of the house he lived in with his parents when he was really little.

“You okay?” MJ asked as she walked him into the living room.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Peter replied, shaking off the bittersweet memories.

She looked like she was going to say something else, when two little snake heads poked out of her collar.

 _“Mama, who thissss?”_ Zuko asked as he curiously flicked his tongue at Peter.

Zilla, on the other hand, immediately got into a strike pose as he hissed accusatory at Peter, _“He ssssmellsss like sssspidersss… I no like! Get him away!”_

Peter didn’t feel his danger sense go off, the snakes were far too little to actually hurt him. But he certainly didn’t like how the black one hissed at him. And it only got weirder from there when MJ hissed back.

 _“Hey!”_ MJ lightly booped Zilla’s nose and stroked his neck until he got out of strike position. _“Thissss issss my boyfriend, Peter. You will be nicccce!”_

 _“Boyfriend?”_ Zuko asked, _“What that?”_

Oh, that’s right… Snakes tended to struggle with human social bonds, hence why they referred to MJ’s parents as ‘Mama’s mama’ and ‘Mama’s dada’. 

She struggled to come up with the proper words in Parseltongue, before settling on, _“He’ssss… he’ssss my… we’re courting.”_ Hopefully they understood.

 _“Oooooh, he’ssss mama’ssss mate!”_ Zuko hissed, then added, _“Oh! Will mama have hatchlingsss with him?”_

Harry, who was lounging at the kitchen table up until this point, almost laughed himself out of his chair.

MJ, on the other hand, blushed as she hissed back, _“No! Well… maybe… hopefully… eventually… We are… almost-matessss. We’re courting.”_

Zuko seemed to understand, but Zilla was still very suspicious of Peter. _“I don’t care, mama. I no like him. He sssssmellsss like sssspidersss… sssspiderssss bad!”_

“Uh… what’s going on?” Peter asked. He wasn’t afraid or anything, just very confused.

 _“Oh right,”_ MJ hissed, before she realized she wasn’t speaking English. “Oh, right,” she tried again, “Sorry. This is Zuko,” MJ patted the garter snake’s head, “And this little terror is Zilla,” she continued, this time patting the rat snake. “They’re my sweet lil’ babies. By the way, don’t freak out, I can speak to snakes. The language is called Parseltongue. And no, not every magical person can speak it. I had to spend forever learning it.”

“And I was born with it,” Harry said, waving from the kitchen.

“Oh, that’s really cool!” Peter replied. And he meant it. The hissing was kind of unsettling at first, but he quickly found it kind of relaxing to listen to.

MJ put both snakes back in their shared enclosure. Even though Zuko was okay with Peter, she was afraid of Zilla getting too territorial and striking. And if one snake was inside their tank, it didn't seem fair to keep the other one out. She hushed their protestations with a mouse each. 

“So…” MJ said after a few seconds of dreadful awkward silence. “What do you guys wanna do now?”

Harry shrugged, “Well, uh… if you guys want the living room to yourselves…” Harry began.

“Oh, uh, only if you actually want to,” Peter said.

“Yeah,” MJ continued, “this isn’t a date or anything. We’re just hanging out. Besides, you’re getting overwhelmed with catching up with non-magical media right?” MJ asked. “Well, my nerd boyfriend here is an expert on pop-culture.”

“I mean, kinda sorta.” Peter nervously rubbed the back of his neck, “I wouldn’t say expert, but I watch a lot of movies.”

Harry retrieved a folded up piece of paper from his pocket. “Well, Uncle Rowan did leave me a list of things he said were the most influential movies to understand muggle culture. But uh… I don’t really know where to start.”

A cursory glance at the list showed Peter that he and Rowan had pretty much identical tastes in movies. A lot of it was things found in the Criterion collection, a lot of 80’s sci-fi and fantasy too... His eyes lit up as he spied two little words, one starting with an S and the other starting with a W.

MJ saw it too, and immediately went to nip that in the bud. “No, we aren’t going to spend our entire day marathoning _that!”_

“Come on MJ, it’s a classic!” Peter argued.

MJ huffed, “Yeah, but if we watch one, then we got to at least finish the Original Trilogy, and there goes our entire afternoon.” Looking through the list again, something else caught her eye. “What about John Carpenter’s The Thing?”

Peter balked, “I mean, I love that movie but uh… for someone who hasn’t seen a lot of horror that might be a little too intense don’t you think?”

“I can handle it!” Harry protested.

“Maybe,” Peter replied, “but the body horror is pretty intense, even for me.” He skimmed the list for something else. “Hey, what about Alien? That seems like a good compromise. It’s pretty intense, but like, not _too_ intense.”

“You know what, that’s actually a really good idea,” MJ said. “How about you and Harry find it in the impossible mess that is our blu-ray rack, while I make us some snacks!”

MJ made popcorn, of course. But not microwaved popcorn from a bag. Oh no, if MJ was gonna make popcorn, she was gonna be extra about it. In her mind the only way to make popcorn was to pop it yourself in a wok, with some chili oil mixed into the popping oil to make it spicy. Oh, and of course she made her own flavor mix using salt and gochugaru (korean chili powder). 

But, all that took a while. Which was fine. That gave Peter and Harry time to get more acquainted. By the time she returned to the living room with her massive bowl of spicy popcorn, they were already in the middle of an animated conversation. 

“So I saw the snitch right as I was able to finally regain control of my broom. And when I dove for it… well, I wasn’t all that experienced yet and I accidentally caught it with my mouth. I almost swallowed it, actually,” Harry said, just as MJ plopped down next to Peter.

“Okay, quidditch is kind of amazing,” Peter replied. “I still can’t believe you guys have an entire sport played on brooms.”

“Not just one,” MJ said as she crunched on a handful of popcorn. “In the US we have quodpot. Which in my opinion, is way better,” she continued. 

Harry looked like he really _really_ wanted to say something, but he almost literally swallowed his retort… mostly. “That is very debatable, but I don’t really wanna get into that right now. Let’s just start the movie.”

The three of them settled into the couch as the titles played, periodically passing the popcorn between them. Peter and MJ both saw the movie before, so they knew what to expect. They snuggled together, watching Harry’s reactions to things almost as much as they were watching the movie. 

* * *

Harry had killed a basilisk, faced a werewolf, even fought the darkest wizard of the age on multiple occasions. So he really didn’t expect a muggle movie to scare him all that much. But for most of the movie, he was utterly petrified, even audibly squeaking at the chest bursting scene.

So he was very relieved when the closing credits finally played. Not that he didn’t like the movie. On the contrary, he actually loved it. But he’d be kidding himself if he thought he could handle that level of tension for much longer.

“You okay Harry?” Peter sincerely asked. As entertaining as his terror was, he didn’t wanna traumatize him or anything.

“Yeah… I’m okay…” Harry replied. 

“You know what? You look like you need to destress a little bit. And I know just how to do that,” MJ said as she got up from Peter’s arms. “Let’s take a quick trip to the training room.”

“Training room?” Peter asked as he followed her and Harry to the hall closet.

“Oh right,” MJ replied, “you haven’t seen it yet.” MJ opened the closet door and motioned everyone in. 

Just as before, as soon as MJ closed the closet, it lurched as it slowly descended into the hidden basement.

“Woah…” Peter said as he stepped into the massive space. “How did your parent’s get permits to build this?”

“Oh, well, they did and they didn’t,” MJ replied as she waved her wand at the dummies surrounding the dueling circle. They got up and walked into a line, shoulder to shoulder, turning the dueling circle into more of a target range.

“They didn’t need permits to build it, they just needed permission to use an undetectable extension charm on the already existing basement,” MJ continued.

“So what are we going to practice today?” Harry asked with growing excitement.

Peter shared his enthusiasm, eager to see more magic.

“Well,” MJ replied, “We’re going to work on this,” she said as she quickly moved her wand in a slashing downward motion, a bright red spark of energy arcing between the tip and slamming into one of the dummies. It rocked hard on it’s spring mount, glowing red to signify it was hit hard enough to knock out a normal opponent.

It took Harry a second to realize the significance, then his eyes brightened. “Hey, you did that nonverbally, didn’t you?”

MJ nodded. “Yup. We’re going to work on nonverbal casting today. It’s pretty advanced, but so was the wandless casting we did yesterday.” 

She realized that they kind of skipped a step, and that Harry would probably have an easier time wandless casting if he got a better handle on internally visualizing what he wanted his magic to do.

“So,” MJ continued, “give it a try.”

Harry slashed at the dummy with his wand, only thinking _stupefy_ instead of saying it out loud. He managed to produce a red spark that fizzled out pretty much as soon as it appeared. He tried again, to similar results. 

“It’s more than just thinking the incantation in your head instead of saying it aloud,” MJ offered. “You know what… try casting it normally a couple of times, but pay special attention to the feeling of your magic carrying out the spell. Then try to replicate that feeling, only without saying the incantation.”

“ _Stupefy!”_ Harry cried, perhaps casting a little bit more forcefully than necessary. 

Not only did the dummy glow red as it was hit, but it flew off its stand, careening out of the dueling circle. MJ waved her wand and reset the dummy, then Harry tried again. He cast a few more stunners, even casting into the ground a couple times with his eyes closed as he tried to visualize what his magic was doing as it travelled through his wand.

“So, that’s a spell to like, knock someone over or something?” Peter asked as he and MJ observed Harry’s spellcasting.

“Kinda,” MJ replied. “It can do that if it's cast gently enough. But normally _stupefy_ is a stunning spell, which knocks over the target along with rendering it unconscious.”

“Neat,” Peter said, which MJ found to be the most ‘Peter’ like reply possible.

She could also sense he was desperate to know more. “So,” she continued. “Spells cast with a wand are broken up into two broad categories.” 

She picked up a rock from a nearby desk and waved her wand over it. The rock wiggled as it was slowly transformed into a small statue of a snake. 

“Transfiguration is using magic to change the physical properties of something.” MJ waved her wand again, and the statue turned back into a rock.

Then she waved her wand in with a ‘swish and flick’ motion, and the rock levitated in her hand. “Charms are considered any spell that uses magic to impart a property on something.”

The rock slowly floated back into MJ’s hand. “Of course, there’s a ton of overlap, and some charms could almost be considered transfigurations, and visa versa.”

Peter had so many questions, but he didn’t wanna overwhelm MJ, so he just stuck to observing Harry.

Eventually Harry tried casting nonverbally again. He imagined his magic flowing through his arm and into the phoenix feather in his wand. He imagined the magic changing as it interacted with the core, then propelling itself out of the tip in a jet of red light. And when he slashed his wand at the target, an arc of red energy actually did shoot out of his wand. It smacked straight into the chest of the dummy, sending it sailing backwards. 

“Nice!” MJ complimented, “Now, do it a couple more times to get the feel, then try it with the body bind curse.”

As Harry got to work, MJ pulled Peter to the brewing station.

“We’re gonna brew a potion,” MJ said, much to Peter’s delight.

“Wait, really?” He asked. “Don’t I have to be magical to do that?”

“Sorta,” MJ replied, “there will be some steps where I’ll have to channel some magic, but most of it you’ll be able to do on your own. Think of it like making a pizza. You can make and shape the dough and put toppings on, but you’ll need me to provide the heat.”

Peter bounced in the bench like an excited toddler as MJ gathered the ingredients they needed, along with a clean cauldron and a bunsen burner. 

“So what are we brewing?” Peter asked as MJ set up the cauldron and burner.

“Something easy,” MJ replied, “boil cure potion. Mostly because I’ve been breaking out like crazy lately, and I’ve run out.”

MJ helped Peter with every step, showing him how to crush the snake fangs to the proper consistency and when to add the porcupine quills. But right before they finished the potion off with the requisite wand wave, Harry asked MJ for some help with his nonverbal body bind curse.

And that was fine. The potion could stay on the burner for a little without hurting it. But when MJ returned, the potion had already gone from a dull grey to a vibrant emerald green, something that was only supposed to happen with the wand wave.

“Did you do anything while I was gone?” MJ asked, curiously staring at the bubbling brew. 

“No… I just stood over it a little bit. It changed color, is it supposed to do that?” Peter asked.

MJ nodded, “Yeah, that was supposed to happen…” she trailed off as she bottled the potion into two vials, one for her and one for Peter. It was only fair that he got some of the secret to her clear skin, considering he did most (maybe all?) of the work.

“So… it’s done?” Peter asked.

MJ nodded, passing Peter his vial. “Yup! Congrats, boyfriend, you just brewed your first potion.”

They settled into watching Harry refine his technique with nonverbal casting, but MJ couldn’t stop thinking about the incident with the potion.

“Hey Peter?” She asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, how exactly _did_ you get your powers anyway?”

Peter went on to tell her about the field trip to the Stark Genetics lab, and how he got bitten by an escaped spider genetically modified to have a slightly radioactive venom.

“And after three days of being more sick than I’ve ever been in my entire life, I woke up with super strength and the ability to stick to stuff,” Peter finished.

“Huh,” MJ said. “That’s weird. So like… the venom interacting with your genetics gave you the powers?”

Peter shrugged, “That’s gotta be it, right?”

That didn’t sound right to MJ. The odds of radioactive venom selectively changing Peter’s DNA to _only_ give him super strength and adhesion wasn’t just astronomical, it should have been medically impossible. In reality, the venom should have affected his DNA randomly, killing him through a slow and painful series of cancers or something.

No, there was definitely something else going on, and MJ was gonna get to the bottom of it… eventually. For now, she was content with helping Harry with his wandless casting until eventually he was too tired to keep casting.

Then they went back to the living room and spent the rest of the day binging a bunch more movies. Thankfully for Harry’s sake they moved away from the horror genre. Of course, Peter wore down MJ’s will and they went ahead and watched the entire Original Trilogy of Star Wars movies.

Harry didn’t even mind the running commentary Peter made. He was actually fascinated how muggles were able to make such amazing visuals with studio models and something called ‘green screen chroma keying’. He still had no idea what that specifically meant, but it was still cool none the less.

As the credits to Return of the Jedi rolled, they collectively realized how hungry they were and they made an improvised dinner of spaghetti and meat sauce. Which surprisingly turned out better than it had any right to be. Of course, they saved as much as they could for MJ’s parents for when they eventually came home.

Right as they finished cleaning the kitchen, Peter’s phone buzzed.

**_May:_ ** Hey Peter its getting pretty late. You wanna get picked up pretty soon orrr…

Peter cursed under his breath as he _finally_ had the sense to check the time. It was almost eleven at night. May was being nice about it, but Peter _really_ stayed too late. She had to be up early for work, and it was at least a twenty minute drive to pick him up.

Just as he was about to text May back begging forgiveness, the fireplace burned with a flash of green, surprising him so badly he almost dropped his phone. Rowan and Monique stepped through the flames, looking very, very tired.

“Oh, hey Peter!” Monique said with a genuine smile. “Do you need a ride home? It’s getting pretty late.”

“Or, you’re more than welcome to stay the night. If your aunt agrees, that is.” Rowan added.

Peter bit his lip, hesitating before asking May. He got the go ahead a few seconds later, along with a text urging him to use protection, punctuated with a winky face emoji.

“So, May’s cool with me staying the night…” Peter said, his cheeks still burning.

“Great!” Rowan replied. “Well, we’ll get out of your kids hair. Frankly… it’s been a kind of difficult day for us.” Then he promptly trundled up the stairs.

Monique didn’t immediately join him. While Harry and Peter looked through the blu-ray rack to see what they should watch next, Monique pulled her daughter to the kitchen.

“Okay, so… I know you and Peter probably haven’t _quite_ reached this stage in your relationship, but just in case you have…” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I stocked your medicine cabinet with contraceptive potions, the incantation to change your doorknob blue is _colovaria caeruleum_ , and remember to lay down a sound muffling charm.”

“ _Mama,_ ” MJ groaned, though she was actually kind of touched by the trust her mother was putting in her.

“I know, it’s embarrassing to talk about, but this time it’s actual advice,” Monique said, her hands raised in a placative gesture, before following her husband’s lead and making her way up the stairs.

The three teenagers got through one more movie before Harry had to go to bed. He just wasn’t used to staying up so late. Which left Peter and MJ snuggling on the couch, kind of wondering what to do next.

“I can uh… I can take the couch, if you’d like.” Peter said.

“Um… well… I was thinking… I mean… I have a pretty big bed. It can uh… fit the both of us pretty comfortably…” MJ awkwardly trailed off.

“... Okay,” Peter replied after a moment’s hesitation.

MJ led him to her room, and well… she did end up turning her doorknob blue. They didn’t go _all_ the way, though. They both agreed they weren’t quite ready for that. But they did end up fooling around a bit until they felt okay to actually go to sleep instead of stewing in teenage hormones. And maybe because of that, they both ended up having an actually calm sleep, with only pleasant (and vaguely sexual) dreams...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho boy, that was a long one. I actually think that's going to be the average length of the chapters from now on. Anywho, I hope I'm depicting MJ and Peter's relationship at least somewhat realistically. I know they've only been actually dating for like... two days, so maybe it was a little too early to share a bed. But from what I remember of my own teenager relationships... well, they tended to move at light speed. They also didn't last all that long, but like... I dunno. I'm still a little iffy on the ending of this chapter. I might go back and change it later but that depends. Anyways, I won't bore you any longer with a long winded end note. Hopefully you guys liked it, despite my reservations. And you can expect another chapter within a week. Ciao!
> 
> Oh wait, one last thing! If you guys are curious about how MJ made her popcorn, look up Brian David Gilbert's video on pepcorn. Yes, I'm such a fan of that video that I put a version of pepcorn in my fanfiction about Harry Potter and Spider-Man. Don't judge me.


	13. Chapter 13

**Number 4 Privet Drive, Surry,**

**One Week Post-Prague Incident**

  
  


A cheese toastie floated about a foot and a half above a large tree branch belonging to a tree that sat conveniently right across the street from the front yard of Number Four Privet Drive. The delicious cheese sandwich disappeared one bite at a time as it was slowly consumed by one Nymphadora Tonks. 

Her disillusionment charm was slightly ruined by a small splodge of cheese escaping from the sides of the sandwich and landing squarely on her shirt. She cursed under her breath as she vanished the glob of dairy and finished off her lunch, sitting happily atop the branch as she watched the subject of her espionage.

Harry Potter mechanically trimmed the hedges of the front yard, totally unaware that someone was watching him. Tonks believed he was getting more crap from his awful relatives lately, because he moved as if he was a muggle mechanical automaton, his face devoid of any and all emotion.

She sighed as she leaned on the trunk of the tree. Tonks knew from reputation that Harry was a good kid. A real good kid, in fact. He didn’t deserve the kind of vitriol he endured from his family. But apparently it was for his own safety, and with Voldemort back and the Ministry still vehemently denying his return… well, as awful as the circumstances were, it was for the best.

Tonks sat up straighter as Harry hit his hand on the door frame as he entered the front door. The little smack wasn’t what caught her attention however. It was the small finger shaped thing that dropped off his hand.

She jumped down from her perch in the tree, cursing as she rolled her ankle slightly. Tonks quickly crossed the street and knelt at the porch. Her invisible eyes widened as she picked up the still twitching pinky finger. Feeling slightly ill, she turned it around in her hand, a different kind of horror rising in her chest as she realized the digit was made of clay instead of flesh...

* * *

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster’s Personal Quarters**

Albus Dumbledore sighed as he wrote yet another letter of interest for the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. There used to be a time when willing applicants came to him for interviews. But the rumors of the curse surrounding the position, combined with the Ministry dragging his name through the mud had finally seemed to exhaust the well.

And now he was forced to send letters of interest to retired aurors, hit-wizards, pretty much anyone in the country with experience dealing with dark wizards. And as of yet, he’d yet to receive a single reply even hinting at interest in the post. At this rate he’d be forced to accept a Ministry appointee...

His train of thought was interrupted by a light rapping at his office door.

“Come in,” he called out.

The door opened to reveal a very distraught Minerva McGonagall, with an even more nervous looking Nymphadora Tonks trailing just behind her.

“Albus, we have a very serious problem,” Minerva said as she ushered Tonks forward.

The pink haired junior auror nervously chewed at her lip as she set a twitching finger down on Albus’s desk.

“You’re going to have to explain…” Albus said as he picked up the digit. It was obviously made of enchanted clay, a very advanced transfiguration, he found. But he was still unsure of how that was relevant.

“Harry Potter isn’t Harry Potter,” Tonks said breathlessly. “W-well… He is… I think. But the Harry living at Number Four Privet Drive isn’t Harry. I think he’s some kind of golem.”

Dumbledore immediately sprang to his feet. “Follow me,” he said as he marched to the nearby fireplace.

* * *

Arabella Figg jumped at the sound of her half a dozen half-kneazles all hissing at the fireplace. A few seconds later the fire burned green and Albus Dumbledore stepped through, followed by Minerva and Tonks.

“A-albus, is something wrong?” Arabella asked. Albus never arrived without a warning… unless something dreadful had happened.

“We believe Harry has been taken,” Albus replied.

Arabella’s brow furrowed as she opened the curtains and pointed across the street. Harry Potter crouched in the flower garden, robotically pulling weeds. “Harry isn’t missing…”

She tried to keep her face neutral, but internally she was panicking. Of course she knew of Rowan’s plan to take Harry away. And of course she helped him. Years of watching Harry suffer with the Dursleys had made the decision rather easy. But she didn’t expect Dumbledore to find out so quickly.

The wizened headmaster shook his head. “That isn’t Harry. Rather, that is a very convincingly made clay golem. A  _ shabti _ , if I’m not mistaken.” His normally cheerfully twinkling eyes stared rather severely at the nervous old woman. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you Arabella?”

The cat lady shook her head, and of course Dumbledore knew in an instant she was trying to deceive him. He stared into her eyes, his powers of legilimency allowing him to skim her surface thoughts. He couldn’t see specifics, nor dig too deep. Even untrained squibs could feel the gentle mental prodding if he went too far.

And of course, he didn’t want his rather liberal use of legilimency to be too widely known, so he had to restrict himself to only surreptitiously reading the most surface level thoughts. Though, a nervous mind was easy to read. Albus saw Arabella’s mind flicker to dark auburn hair, and emerald green eyes.

He sighed, in both relief and disappointment. Rowan Jones, formerly Evans, was no threat to Harry. Quite the opposite really. He would keep Harry safe at all costs. But… he’d also slowly erode the trust Dumbledore had been trying to build with the boy. Though… depending on how quickly Dumbledore acted… that trust might still be salvaged.

Though the fact that Arabella wasn’t as loyal to him as he first assumed was a tad troublesome. He wasn’t willing to cut her out of the Order entirely, but moving forward he’d certainly be looking to reduce her already minor role.

“Well,” Dumbledore replied as he straightened his disheveled sky blue robes, “if you see anything suspicious, don’t hesitate to report it.”

And with that, he ushered Minerva and Tonks back into the fireplace. The green flames parted and Albus strode back into his office.

“Well,” Minerva said, rather impatiently. “What now?”

Albus sighed as he sat at his desk. “Tonks, you may return home, and inform Alestor that he doesn’t have to perform night watch tonight… or any other night for that matter.”

Tonks nervously nodded, and stepped back through the fireplace.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Minerva almost growled.

Albus popped a lemon drop into his mouth, swirling the sugary citrus treat along his tongue before he replied, “We don’t have to worry about Harry, for now. He’s safe… with his uncle.”

A look of recognition dawned on Minerva’s face. “Rowan has him?”

“Indeed,” Albus nodded. “Now, if you’d be so kind, could you tell Severus? I believe it would go more smoothly if he’d be the one to visit his old friend.”

Minerva quickly left his office, no doubt to go find Severus. Which left Albus alone with his thoughts. Truthfully, he had nothing against Rowan. He didn’t even blame the man for going on his murderous rampage. Heaven knows, Albus almost did something similar when Ariana was killed. 

But as much as Albus could sympathize, he couldn’t exactly overcome their ideological differences. A young Albus would have gotten along swimmingly with Rowan. There was a time when he was just as fiery, just as temperamental with his enemies, just as… brutal. But years of experience had tempered that rage.

Rowan’s methods were effective, but only to a point. If the violence against pureblood extremists got  _ too _ extreme, then it was easy for them to spin their message into a fight for survival instead of imposing oppression. And when that happened, well, the escalation of violence and death would spiral out of control until both sides engaged in mutually assured destruction.

It didn’t help that Rowan’s group so quickly adopted foreign help. Then the Death Eaters could claim they weren’t just fighting for pureblood supremacy, but also in defence of their own country from foreign invasion. That was why the Order of the Phoenix had a lukewarm relationship at best with the International Wizarding Police during the last war. Albus didn’t want to fall into the same trap of ‘accepting foreign aid’ and being spun into a traitor to his country. 

Albus’s thoughts were interrupted by a grey translucent body floating up through his office floor.

“Oh, Cuthbert, this is quite the surprise,” Albus said.

Professor Binn’s ghostly eyes stared at the floor somberly, his signature slow cadence droning, “Headmaster… it is my sad duty to inform you… I believe I wish to… pass on…”

That took Albus by surprise. It was a very rare thing for a ghost to voluntarily wish to fade into whatever lies beyond. “Very well… Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re one of the most enduring ghosts of the British Isles. May I ask why pass on now?”

Cuthbert nodded. “Yes… I… I haven’t found the same joy in teaching that I normally have. I haven’t for some time. I… Well, to be frank, I just cannot keep up anymore. When I died, people still spoke Old English. It was difficult enough to… what is the word… adapt? Yes… adapt to… Er…” He paused, muttering to himself as he tried to find the right word. He knew it in his native Old English, of course, but he had to mentally translate it from Old English, to Middle, then Early Modern, and then add the proper suffixes demanded by true Modern English.   
“Linguistic, yes, that’s the word. It has been difficult enough to adapt to linguistic changes. Not to mention how fast history seems to be happening nowadays…” The ghost sighed. “I just don’t feel useful in the classroom anymore. I haven’t been alive in so long… Everything seems strange… this world seems like a dream within a dream now…”

Albus understood exactly how Binns felt. He himself was one hundred thirty seven years old. He too felt the encroaching sense of… obsolescence. “Very well, Cuthbert. The castle will miss you, but I… I also understand.”

Cuthbert actually smiled, a rare occurrence indeed. “Thank you headmaster… Give my best to the children for me, won’t you? Tell them… tell them I’ll try to look out for them… wherever I go from here…”

And with that, the aged ghost began to fade. Albus watched sadly as he slowly dissolved, his already translucent form becoming more and more transparent, until he finally dissolved into nothing but a very light dust on the floor.

Albus conjured a light breeze that swept up the ashy dust and carried it out the open window. From there, a natural wind took hold… and just like that, the physical remains of Cuthbert Binns disappeared forever.

Albus took a deep shuddering breath. It was funny. Over the years he’d lost so many friends, so many dear loved ones. He thought by now he’d grow numb to loss. But the fading of a castle ghost was enough to nearly bring him to tears. He reached into his desk to retrieve a bottle of apple mead he reserved for difficult occasions. He was about to pour himself a rather large glass, when a large shadow descended over his desk.  
Albus looked up in surprise to see a huge great horned owl patiently perched on the other side of his desk.

Fawkes trilled a greeting, which the larger bird responded to with a deep hoot. It waited for Albus to retrieve the letter safely tucked into the satchel tied to its back, before it let out another hoot and took off through the still open window.

Albus watched the owl soar into the clouds, fiddling with the letter in his hand. That wasn’t any ordinary postal owl. Large great-horns were almost exclusively used by the international wizarding postal service for their ability to fly intercontinental distances.

The envelope was addressed to him, of course, though from a surprising source; a Chief Auror from New York, one Victor Edward. As he read through the letter’s contents, his wizened eyes narrowed. This could either be very good, or very, very bad. He eyed his travelling cloak. Perhaps he’d go with Severus after all, for it had been a very long time since he made a trip to America...

* * *

“Where are we going again?” Peter asked as he hopped in the passenger seat of MJ’s (parent’s) car. 

“It’s a surprise, duh,” MJ replied as she deftly pulled into the street. 

Unlike Peter, MJ had her drivers license already, which she used to pick up her boyfriend for their first ever official date. Fortunately for her, her parents were cool and let her borrow it for today. 

Peter fiddled with the gift bag in his hands as they drove through the suburbs of Queens. Unfortunately, he forgot (again) to give MJ the glass flower pendant he worked so hard to procure. This time would be different, though. This wasn’t just their regular hangout, this was an actual date. IE, the perfect time to give her his gift. Now, if only he knew what they’d be doing today…

“Here we are,” MJ said as she parked in the small lot next to Delmar’s new(ish) bodega.

Peter looked at her quizzically as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Are we… going for sandwiches or something?”

“Not exactly,” MJ replied. “Not unless you’re hungry. No, we’re uh… well, I’ll just show you.”

MJ led the way into Delmar’s bodega, graciously holding the door open for Peter. They found Mr. Delmar behind the deli, as usual, newspaper in hand. He looked up from his newsprint just as the door chime rang, his eyebrow arching as he saw his two favorite customers not only together, but conspicuously holding hands…

“So, what’ll it be- your usuals?” Delmar asked as the couple walked up to his deli counter.

“Not this time, Mr. Delmar,” MJ replied. “Actually, uh, I was wondering if you’re still selling MMA tickets?”

Delmar’s already arched eyebrow arched even further. “I… didn’t think Peter was into MMA?”

MJ shrugged, “Oh, he wasn’t but uh… I’m getting him into it.”

Peter was thoroughly confused, but stood silently, clutching his gift bag as he watched it all play out…

Delmar nodded knowingly, “Ah, gotcha. Well, in that case, follow me.”

He led them down the hall and into the walk-in cooler. “Go ahead,” he said as he opened the door for the couple.

“Thanks,” MJ smiled as she shuffled in, motioning for Peter to come follow her.

“What’re we doing?” Peter asked.

“Sh, hold on,” MJ said as she drew her wand. She tapped it against the shelf, right between the box of tomatoes and fresh lettuce. “MMA, grand courtyard,” she clearly recited.

Peter actually yelped as the entire walk-in cooler lurched. “MMA, grand courtyard,” a disembodied, vaguely feminine voice parroted as the cooler lowered into the floor.

That was weird, MJ thought. Normally the no-maj detector would go off and ask her about her companion. To which she’d reply that the no-maj was her significant other, and only at that point would the cooler begin its descent. For some reason though, it wasn’t picking up Peter. Possibilities raced through MJ’s mind. She had a sinking suspicion… but she’d have to talk to her meemaw to make sure…

“Uh… what’s going on?” Peter asked nervously, derailing MJ’s train of thought.

MJ smiled as she gave Peter’s hand a reassuring squeeze, “Don’t worry, this is all part of the process.”

A few seconds later, the cooler stopped, the doors opening elevator style. “MMA, main floor,” the voice said again.

“Welcome to the Magical Mall of America,” MJ said as she pulled Peter along.

Peter’s eyes went about as wide as dinner plates as they walked into a massive indoor underground courtyard. The cooler dinged as the doors closed, then literally magically lifted itself back up along an invisible track recessing into a chute that obviously lead to Mr. Delmar’s bodega.

MJ led Peter through a massive, multi-tiered food court. There were stalls selling everything from middle-eastern street food, to literally a licensed Sbarro. It was so massive it actually took them several minutes to cross, until they came to a huge archway with a giant neon sign reading ‘Magical Mall of America’. It was then Peter finally made the connection.

“Oh… MMA, I get it.” Peter said.

“Yeah, it’s a stupid play on words,” MJ said as she continued into the mall proper.

Beyond the archway was the main thoroughfare of the mall, along each side were five levels of various shops, some magical, some mundane. It was so surreal. Some shops looked like stalls plucked out of east Asian wet markets and middle eastern bazaars, but oddly situated between the modern sterility of Apple Stores and Brookestones.

“We’ll go exploring soon, but first there’s an errand I gotta take care of,” MJ said as she led Peter to a shop that looked like it was straight out of Victoria Era downtown London. Exposed weathered bricks and a hanging wrought iron sign completed the look. Though, it couldn’t have been that old, actually. The sign read ‘Scamander’s Magical Menagerie, est. 1947’.

Cages of all shapes and sizes lined the walls and filled the massive glass display in the front. They were filled with all kinds of strange and otherworldly creatures. Some were exotic, but things he generally recognized; like leopard geckos and various birds of paradise. But others were things straight out of a fantasy novel. There were long bodied feathered serpents with multicolored wings,l cat-like creatures with huge ears and squashed faces, a terrier sized dog with a forked tail, a winged lizard with the tail of a scorpion…

“See anything you like?” A tall teenager with tousled red brown hair and an acne scarred face asked. He spoke with a thick brooklyn accent, the harshness mellowed by the softness of his voice.

“Oh, don’t mind him Rolf, he’s just browsing.” MJ said as she took Peter’s hand and walked up to the front desk. 

The teenager who Peter now knew to be Rolf eyed their clasped hands, before he gasped dramatically. “Oh! lil’ Mimi’s got a  _ boyfriend!” _ Rolf said in a singsong voice.

“Shut up! That’s none of your beeswax.” MJ huffed, though her annoyance was obviously a façade, one broken by her slight smirk. “ Though if you must know, yes, this is Peter, he’s my boyfriend. And can we stop with the ‘Little Mimi’ thing? I’m like a year older than you.”

“Yeah, yeah yeah,” Rolf waved her comment away. “So, what can I do for my favorite customer? You lookin’ to get a pet for your boyfriend?” Rolf turned to Peter. “You wanna crup, Peter? You look like a crup kinda fella.”

“Actually Rolf, uh… this is kinda important. Is Mr. Scamander here?” MJ asked.

Rolf wiped the jovial look off his face. If MJ was asking for his grandad, it was serious business. “Naw, grandad’s off in London for business. Why’d you ask?”

MJ nervously chewed her bottom lip. “Oh um. Can we talk in your back room then?”

Rolf quirked a solitary eyebrow, then nodded and opened the counter door. He led the couple down a hallway to a small office area. It looked more or less like a normal office, a desk laden with ledgers central to the space. Though the walls were lined with bookshelves, their spines lined with titles in languages Peter didn’t recognize. He thought a particularly thick and… furry looking book blinked at him, then growled menacingly. Peter stifled a yelp and shuffled closer to MJ. 

Rolf took a seat behind the desk, something he could only do when his grandad was away. The sixteen year old steepled his fingers and tried to put on a no nonsense ‘serious business’ kind of face. The effect was somewhat ruined by the acne spotting his cheeks and nose. “So, what’s up?”

MJ didn’t know exactly how to broach the subject, so instead she just reached into her purse. And reached… and reached, until her entire arm up to her elbow was inside the small handbag.

MJ stifled a laugh at Peter’s shocked expression. “Undetectable extension charm,” MJ said. “Very handy for storage, but sometimes it's hard to find what you’re looking for- oh wait, found it.”

MJ slowly pulled her arm free, and with it came a massive pelt. It was striped like a tiger, but had the mane of a lion. The tail was long and whippy and tipped with tufts of porcupine quills. It was only when Peter saw the squashed face of an old man that he remembered.

“Wait, is that the skin of the thing you killed in Prague?” Peter asked.

Rolf sat up straighter and with a wistful look took the mostly intact hide. “Mr. Whiskers…” 

“I thought he might be one of yours… your grandad really kept a manticore?” MJ asked incredulously.

Rolf shook his head. “No, of course not. Grandad’s an animal lover, for sure. But even  _ he _ isn’t crazy enough to try and befriend a manticore.” Rolf sniffed, “My dad on the other hand…”

MJ winced. She knew Rolf’s dad was a touchy subject. 

Rolf sighed as he blinked back tears and fished a small leather coin purse from one of the desk drawers. As he waved his wand over it, the purse plumped up slightly. When Rolf plopped it in MJ’s hands Peter recognized the sound of coins jingling.

MJ’s eyes went the size of dinner plates when she opened it. Like her own handbag, the coin purse had an undetectable extension charm on it. “Rolfy, I can’t accept this…”

Rolf rolled his eyes. “You can and you will. The manticore is a class XXXXX magical creature, and any part of the animal requires a permit to own. Which also means that I, as an apprentice magizoologist, am legally obligated to confiscate it’s pelt and deliver it to the proper authorities. But on the other hand, I don’t feel comfortable just takin’ it. Whiskers chose to fight you, you had to kill him to defend yourself... The way I see it, you might not be able to keep the pelt, but I can at least pay you for it.”

“This is like… four hundred galleons though!” MJ said, shaking the purse. “I can’t take this! Are you even allowed to give it to me?”

“It's five hundred sixty seven galleons, to be precise. The approximate value of a triple A grade manticore pelt,” Rolf replied with a smirk. “And trust me, if grandad was here he’d slip it into your handbag all sneaky like without you even noticin’. At least I have the courtesy of letting you know I’m handing you a small fortune. ‘Sides, the Department of Magical Creatures’ll reimburse us anyway.”

“Rolfy…” MJ whined, as she tried to put the purse back on the table.

“No, take it,” Rolf said as he pressed it into her hands. “Go buy somethin’ really really nice for your boyfriend. Or something for yourself. Or shove it in a vault for a rainy day. Whatever you do, do it guilt free. This is  _ fair _ , alright. Sides, like I said. You literally earned it.” 

“MJ, I really don’t think he’s gonna take no for an answer,” Peter cut in.

“Oh, I knew I liked you,” Rolf said with a broad smile. “He’s right though. We can sit here arguin’ until the sun sets, or you can just take the sack o’ gold.”

MJ groaned, “Fine. But I’m gonna pay you back eventually.”

“Sure you will, Mimi, sure you will.” Rolf turned to Peter, “Good to meetcha, buddy. Oh, if you ever find yourself in the need of a magical pet and/or companion, I can get ya a real good deal on-”

“Okay, thanks Rolfy, we’ll be going now,” MJ said as she ushered Peter out of the office before Rolf could upsell him on who knows what. Rolf was one of MJ’s best friends, but the guy didn’t really know when to turn off ‘salesman’ mode.

“So what now?” Peter asked as they exited the magical pet store and walked back into the hustle and bustle of the largest magical shopping area in the world. 

MJ hummed to herself. “Well, our prospects have widened considerably now,” MJ said as she jangled the coin purse. “For now, let’s start with lunch?”

* * *

A few minutes later they stood in the gargantuan multi-leveled food court, ordering tacos from a taco stand that looked plucked straight out of a small mexican villa or something.

“We’ll take two tacos al pastor, two tacos de lengua, and um…” MJ rubbed her chin thoughtfully, “two tacos de chapulines, please.”

The grizzled looking chef raised a curious eyebrow at the order. “Are you sure, señorita?”

MJ confidently nodded. “Oh, I’m sure.”

The cook jotted down the order, “Very well, I like a customer who knows what she wants.”

And five minutes later, they were sitting down at an empty table, sharing a tray of half a dozen tacos. Peter took Spanish… he passed by the skin of his teeth, but he  _ did _ take it. He knew al pastor was roasted pig. Lengua was tongue, which he actually was fairly comfortable with. Mrs. Leeds made a mean lengua estofado, so if the tongue taco was anything like that, he’d probably like it. Chapulines on the other hand… Memories of last year’s Spanish class were hazy but weren't those…

He got his answer when MJ took a bite of one of the mystery tacos and he saw a little insect leg peeking out of the corner of her mouth. MJ smirked at the sight of her boyfriend’s widening eyes. “What’s the matter Peter?” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “You’re Spider-Man aren’t you? I thought entomophagy would be no biggie for you, considering your super-hero theme…”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. Oh, now it was on. Not wanting to be left out, he took a huge bite out of a fried grasshopper filled taco. And instantly he thought maybe he should have taken a more conservative bite. His eyes widened at the scratchy feeling of their sharp carapaces against the inside of his mouth. 

But as he chewed, he found the flavor more than made up for the abrasiveness of their bodies. The marinade or whatever they were fried in was super limey and sour, but also really spicy. It kind of reminded him of hot cheetos, but a thousand times better. And they were  _ stupidly _ crunchy. Literally they were the crispiest things he ever had. Their fried insect bodies shattered like glass, then utterly disintegrated, leaving naught but a sour-spicy flavor and like… insect mush. 

“Okay hold up…” Peter said in awe.

“I know right? My dad ordered one for me on a dare once and like… It’s actually one of my favorite things on their menu now,” MJ said before taking another bite.

The braised tongue tacos were pretty good too, and the al pastor was sublime. So all in all, not a bad lunch for a first date, Peter thought. 

“So, you and Rolf like… grew up together or something?” Peter asked as he finished the last of his tacos.

MJ smirked, “Kind of… why? Are you jealous?”

“Oh no, no. Um It’s just uh… I figured you’re the kind of person who has to know  someone for a while before you get really friendly with them,” Peter winced as he replied. Oh boy, the  _ last _ thing he wanted to do was come off as jealous to her.

MJ actually smiled. “Relax, Peter, I’m messing with you. I know you aren’t that kind of guy. Anyway, yeah, I guess you could say we grew up together. His mom was my mom’s Magizoology professor at Ilvermorny, and they remained really good friends after my mom graduated. And well, long story slightly less long, his dad kinda sorta totally abandoned him and his mom when Rolf was a little kid. And my parents babysat him a lot to help his mom and his grandad out. They’re both really important people in the magizoology field, you see, and a lot of the time their work pulled them away.”

“Oh, that makes sense…” Peter trailed off. Then his eyes widened in recognition as he finally put the pieces together. “Oh I feel like an idiot. So… the guy who sicced the old man lion thing-”

“Manticore,” MJ supplied.

“Right, Manticore. The guy who sicced it on you was… Rolf’s dad?”

“Yup.” MJ sighed. “I never asked why Rolf’s dad left. It never felt my place to ask… but now I know.”

Peter winced, “Now I feel really bad about convincing you to take the money.”

MJ shrugged, “No, you were right. He wasn’t gonna let us leave otherwise. Plus, trying to give it back after I’ve already taken it would just piss him off.”

She felt an awkward pause coming on. MJ had to find a way to end it before it sucked her soul out. The now slightly worn gift back sitting next to Peter’s elbow gave her an out. “Okay, so like. Seriously my guy, what’s in the bag? You’ve been carrying it around since Venice, and I know we did the ‘boh’ thing but like, the curiosity is literally making my brain itch.”

Peter winced awkwardly, “Oh right. Uh. It’s actually something for you… I had this whole plan for the Summer trip-”

“I  _ knew _ it wasn’t commemorative spoons,” MJ interrupted. 

Peter rolled his eyes, “Yeah, Ned can’t lie to  _ literally _ save his life. I thought I was bad, but he is… I don’t know how he’s keeping my secret.”

MJ laughed into the back of her hand, “He really isn’t, dude.”

“W-what?” There was no way Ned would out him… was there? Not that it super mattered anymore. Their class knew his secret now. Thankfully they swore to keep his secret with the same level of seriousness that they were keeping the secret about the magical world. But still… Ned wouldn’t leak it to a tabloid or something...

“Oh, he hasn’t outright said anything. Don’t worry about that. I think he’d really rather suffer a torturous death than give away your secret. Not that it would matter, because both of you guys ‘whisper’ about the comparative volume of a jet fighter at takeoff. The more excited you are, the worse it gets. I think the only reason the rest of the class didn’t overhear you is cuz like… they’re either deaf, stupid, or some combination of the two.”

“Note to self,” Peter sighed, “Keep spider-talk to texts from now on…”

“If you’re gonna do that, make sure you get one of those privacy protectors for your screen. And like. I dunno, do the Avengers have an encrypted network for you to use or something?”

Peter mentally added both those things to his to-do list for tomorrow.

“What were we talking about again?” MJ asked. “Oh right, what’s in the bag, Peter?”

“You know what,” Peter sighed, “This is as good a time as any. If I hold off I might forget… again.” He handed her the gift bag with some level of trepidation.

MJ dug out the super squished wrapping tissue and found a beautiful little tin at the bottom of the bag. She took out the tin and opened it to reveal-

“Oh my god, Peter,” she whispered, the absolutely gorgeous glass flower pendant dangling between her fingers.

As MJ put it on, she felt the magic figuratively (and slightly literally) vibrating from it. She ran her fingers over it’s smooth finish, trying to sense what kind of magic it was imbued with. MJ was only proficient enough at sensing magic to determine two things. One, it wasn’t malicious. And two, it seemed to be enchanted with a very, very powerful protective ward leagues away from what she was capable of doing.

“Um. Yeah. I uh. I meant to give it to you at the Eiffel Tower. Then when that didn’t end up happening I meant to give it to you at Prague. And then… a lot of stuff happened. Then I tried to give it to you the other day when we hung out at your house, but then we got caught up in magic and… other stuff and I completely spaced it.”

MJ sniffed, struggling to hold back tears. “You’re a dummy… My dummy…” She leaned over the table, grabbed Peter by the shoulders and pulled him into an only slightly clumsy kiss. They were getting better at that lately.

She felt a strange burning ache in her chest that spread to the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t a bad feeling. Far from it, it was warm and comforting and made her feel like she was floating on air. Maybe it was the magic that sang from the pendant… Or maybe it was something else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Long time no see! So, I had planned to get this chapter out before Christmas, but uh... Well, then I got covid. My dad works at a hospital, and he got it (he's fine too, don't worry) and I live in close proximity to him, so I got it too. But don't worry, I'm mostly fine. Despite having nothing to do all day, it does make it really hard to concentrate on writing, hence this chapter being really late. But, I like to think I made up for it with the length (quantity, not quality right? If you can't tell I'm laughing nervously).
> 
> Though, I will say it does feel a little disjointed to me. The parts with Albus dealing with his shiz and Peter and MJ's dates individually were too short for their own chapters, and I don't know where to put them otherwise so um... I just squished them together. But I hope it's okay nonetheless? If it's weird, I blame covid for muddling my brain up a lil' bit. (Just kidding, but also kinda not).


	14. Chapter 14

**Iron Acton, Bristol, South Gloucestershire, England**

**2 AM GMT**

The streets of Iron Acton were almost eerily quiet. That was normal, however. The village population barely broke into four digits, and there really wasn’t anything to do after dark. The pubs and inns all closed down fairly early, catering to the fact that most of the population were retired pensioners who rarely stayed up past 8 PM. Well, actually, it wasn’t all old folks.

The tiny little town was one of those rare places where magical families lived amongst muggle neighbors. The quiet, quaint… possibly even antiquated nature of the little village appealed to magical families to which the technology filled hustle and bustle of larger towns and cities were totally alien. There weren’t many of them though, perhaps five families scattered about, with one wizarding pub.

That was why Charity Burbage chose to move there with her three year old daughter. She had lived with one foot each in the magical and mundane world, and now she didn’t know how else to live… especially now. 

She thought her muggle husband would be accepting of the magical world. He worked for the University of Bristol’s Anthropology and Archeology Department, after all. He wasn’t like other muggles, he studied early human cultures, knew that mysticism was a foundational part of their society. He played fantasy tabletop roleplaying games with his friends on the weekends. 

He always expressed extreme interest, bordering on obsession, with the  _ idea _ of magic that Charity honestly thought he’d be ecstatic to learn that not only magic was real, but that he had a magical wife and possibly magical daughter. Though, despite that she never mustered up the courage to tell him the truth. Turns out she never had to. He learned the truth when their sweet little daughter turned her first birthday candle into a slide whistle when she tried to blow it out.

Maybe if she had told him earlier, had broken it to him more gently, he wouldn’t have left the following week, never to return. Suddenly, she was all alone, raising a daughter.

Thankfully, she was able to get a job as the Muggle Studies Professor at Hogwarts. Who knew the only requirement for the position was living with muggles for a little more than a decade. The work was thankless and menial. Muggleborn and half-blood students found her class to be backwards and dull, and pureblood students were borderline offended that her class existed to begin with.

Still, the pay was good, and things were looking up for her and her daughter. Should she have been more concerned with Albus’s announcement of You-Know-Who’s return? Maybe. Should she have accepted Albus’s offer to take up residence at Hogwarts? Probably. But little Imogene had finally started making friends at the local nursery this past year. It didn’t seem right to uproot her. 

Plus, the castle was dangerous for a small child. The staircases moved with little warning, more than once she had almost plummeted to her death because she wasn’t paying absolute attention. The nearby forest was full of dangerous creatures, and every year there seemed to be some new peril plaguing the school. No, she was better off raising her daughter in their little cottage in a tiny town. She believed that right until the Death Eaters had blasted through their front door.

Imogene snuggled up tighter with her mother, burying her face in her bosom. She had a very scary dream earlier in the night, and her mumma let her sleep with her in bed. But it was just this once. Mogee was a big girl now, she had to learn to sleep in her own big girl bed. The small child had barely started to drift off, when a series of pops from somewhere outside forced her awake. Her mumma woke too, her sparkly blue eyes fraught with worry. 

It took Charity maybe two full seconds of wakefulness to realize what was happening. Terrible, horrible memories of the War came flooding back. There were always stories of families attacked in the night, their children mutilated, their husbands broken and battered… horrific things done to the girls and women... It was those stories that prompted her parents to drill her in what to do if she ever heard the dreadful pops heralding the Death Eaters...

“Mogee, stay quiet okay, baby?” Charity said as she pushed her child into the closet. She ignored her child’s protests as she closed the door, waving her wand over it to impart the most powerful locking and sound muffling charms she knew.

She had literally just finished when she heard the front door of the cottage get blown off its hinges. Charity wasn’t much of a duelist, but the all encompassing need to protect her baby awakened something in her. When the first masked figure broke through their bedroom door, it caught a slicing curse in the neck for its trouble. The next one all too casually stepped over it’s fallen comrade, their wand raised and a curse on its masked lips. They were too slow on the cast, a desperate stunner from Charity’s wand crashed into their chest and blew them back into the hallway.

The next figure to walk through the doorway was brazenly unmasked. The pale skin, unnervingly symmetrical and handsome face, and glowing red eyes of Lord Voldemort himself was enough to paralyze Charity where she stood.

Voldemort flung Charity’s wand from her hand with a contemptuously casual wave. He glanced at the bleeding body of his follower, still crumpled on the floor. “I must say, a commendable performance for a Muggle Studies teacher. Now, come here, my dear.”

Charity’s stunned paralysis turned into a magical one as her legs snapped together, her arms crushed to her sides. She was about to fall flat on her face when she felt herself floating gently through the air. He led her into the living room where other masked Death Eaters stood in a circle, unnervingly silent. Though… there was one other person other than Voldemort whose face was bare. Her eyes widened in recognition.

* * *

It wasn’t Draco’s fault the plan he drafted with the Dark Lord didn’t come into fruition. The Dark Lord wasn’t above admitting that he was overconfident, too brash. A good plan failed due to his own arrogance. And had the plan worked, well… it really would have given them a massive advantage. Had it worked, it would have been a brilliant way to infiltrate the Avengers and destroy them from the inside. And it was high time Draco was rewarded for helping him come up with it.

One day, the Dark Lord approached the platinum blonde teen. “Draco, my boy,” he said, heartily clapping his hand on his shoulder, “I do believe it is high time you were one of us. Truly one of us. Your initiation will happen tonight.”

Draco was so nervous- no-  _ excited _ he almost botched his apparition. His parents (illegally) taught him in his third year, and by now it was second nature… almost second nature, he thought as he saw the small patch of cloth missing in the sleeve of his cloak. Said patch fluttered by him in the breeze. Oh well, he might have technically splinched, but at least it wasn’t a body part, and he brought the patch along with him.

“It's acceptable to be nervous, Draco” his masked father said as they walked toward the door. “The important thing is that you do what’s asked of you when the time comes.”

Draco wasn’t nervous. He  _ wasn’t _ . He was just excited, that was all. 

The Dark Lord himself struck the door with a blasting curse, destroying not only the door, but whatever protective and security charms it may or may not have been enchanted with. The masked Death Eaters filed through, Draco trailing just behind.

There was a small duel, as whoever their target was put up a little bit of resistance. One of their comrades fell, bleeding from the neck. The next crashed into the hallway. Of course that ended when the Dark Lord got involved. He easily neutralized whoever their target was. And a few moments later, said target was limply floating behind him as he strode into the living room.

Draco thought their target would have been some blood traitor. Perhaps an auror, judging by the brief but savage duel. Imagine his surprise when he recognized the face of the Muggle Studies professor.

He didn’t even know her name. He remembered seeing her sitting at the staff table meal times, barely even registering her, she was such an afterthought to him. He remembered her taking an obscene amount of house points and giving him half a dozen detentions for catching him ‘using an offensive slur’ as she put it. And here she was, floating in the center of the sacred circle of Death Eaters in nothing but her night clothes.

“My friends,” the Dark Lord began, “for those of you who do not already know… the sacrifice-” he was interrupted by the muffled screams of the floating woman. “Silence,” he growled, strengthening the muffling charm. “As I was saying, the sacrifice for our sacred initiation ritual is one Charity Burbage. She is Hogwarts’ ‘Muggle Studies’ professor.” 

The Dark Lord scoffed, “As if those beasts deserve to be studied, but I digress. She also put up quite a fight,” he said as he gestured to the now deceased Death Eater slumped in the corner. “And, personally, I think that deserves… a reward, before her inevitable death. Don’t you all agree?”

The Dark Lord waved his wand, and Charity’s night clothes and knickers dropped off her body. 

“Oh my,” the Dark Lord feigned being flustered. “She is… quite lovely, isn’t she? When one thinks of a professor, this kind of body doesn’t usually come to mind…” He said with a lustful smirk. 

His hands roamed her bare skin, coming close to touching… certain parts, before he thought better of it. His followers always complained if he was the first to ‘spoil’ their victims. “Well, who wishes to... partake first?”

Charity stared into Draco’s eyes, even in her paralyzed, mute state, the desperation in her expression was obvious. Her eyes begged,  _ pleaded _ for him to do something,  _ anything _ to help her.

From before Draco was even old enough to understand language, his father had fed him stories of the War. He brazenly told Draco how they bravely stood against the inferior mudbloods who wished to poison their pure culture with the muck blooded filth of muggles and their  _ technology _ . His bedtime tales were stories of valiant battles against insurrectionists hell bent on destroying their way of life. And later, he was told… other stories. Terrible stories. About how the most effective way of quelling their enemies was through fear.

How Death Eaters would raid homes, murder, pillage… rape. And while those stories disgusted him, for whatever reason Draco believed his father’s excuses. ‘Oh, yes it was reprehensible, but necessary,’ his father said. ‘The mudbloods drove us to do it, Draco. We needed to keep them afraid, to keep them in line’. 

And despite how horrific it all was, Draco would smile and nod unquestioningly. It always seemed like such a far off thing to him. In his mind’s eye, the victims were faceless, barely even humanoid, just abstract shapes really. He could never actually think of them as people. Not until now. Right now. Now it was real. Now, in a few horrifically short seconds, he was about to be part of one of those terrible  _ horrific  _ stories.

The cold, unerring, absolute truth hit him in the chest like a runaway bludger. This was wrong. Everything he was told, from the moment he was born:  **_WRONG._ **

He couldn’t be a part of this. No. No that wasn’t enough. That was an awful thought, a cowardly thought. He couldn’t turn a blind eye either. He couldn’t let this happen. Couldn’t more of this continue. He had to stop it… had to stop it.. 

He was shocked out of his thoughts by the disgusting sound of a belt being unlatched,  _ his fathers belt. _ And in that half second, Draco came up with a plan.

“No!” He cried, too hurriedly, too emotive. He had to calm down. “No,” he tried again. “She is mine. And no one else’s.”

He heard his father reclasp his belt. “Very well, boy.”

They all stared at him expectantly through their horrible, silver skull masks. 

“I… apologize, but… er… I uh-” Draco stuttered uselessly.

“Ah,” the Dark Lord seemed to fill in some blanks. “I do believe young Draco wishes to have his time with her… alone. Shy, are you? Understandable. Very well, son,” the Dark Lord said, the familiarity with how he addressed Draco made the teenager feel sick. “We are celebrating you after all. Come friends, let’s leave Draco to his fun.” He paused, remembering. “Oh but first…”

The Dark Lord pulled up Draco’s sleeve and pressed the tip of his wand against his forearm. Draco hissed as he felt the dark magic burn a mark…  _ the _ mark into his skin. For as long as Draco could remember, he dreamed of that mark being seared into his forearm. But now, looking at it made him sick. And not just because the process was agonizing.

“ _ Now _ we’ll leave you to your fun,” the Dark Lord said, sheathing his wand. He strode through the ruined front door, the other Death Eaters following dubitfully. His father was last to leave.

“I’m proud of you, boy,” he whispered into Draco’s ear.

All his life, Draco yearned to hear those words. But now… now they made him nauseous. But instead of being sick all over his father’s shoes, he nervously nodded with a tight lipped smile.

And then, just like that, with a series of staccato pops, he was alone. No. He wasn’t alone. Professor Burbage still floated in the middle of the room, tears flowing down her cheeks, obviously expecting the worst.

Draco took a few steps toward her, then physically flinched back at the sound of her muffled shrieks. “It’s okay, Professor,” Draco said as he drew his wand. 

“Liberacorpus,” he whispered.

Charity flopped to the floor, smacking against the ground with a hard thump.

“S-sorry, nervous,” Draco said as he cast the counter-charm to  _ muffliato _ and helped her up.

She stood stock still, terrified to breathe, to even move, afraid of what Draco would do to her.

“I-I’m not going to harm you,” Draco said, averting his eyes. 

There was a single second of awkward silence between them, before Charity rushed to dress herself. She gave Draco a terrified glance and rushed to her bedroom. A few seconds later she came back with a bawling toddler on her hip. Draco was still shell shocked, so he almost didn’t stop her as she tried to bolt from the house.

“Wait!” he cried.

Charity froze in the middle of the doorframe. “W-what?”

“Y-you can’t just leave,” Draco said. “The Death Eaters have agents everywhere. In the Ministry, working in border customs at Portkey hubs, hell, they probably have a few milling around muggle corner stores. If any of them see you alive, then I’m dead.”

Charity wanted to spit ‘not my problem’, as she carried her daughter off into the night. But if any Death Eaters saw her alive, they’d never stop hunting her. And also… it wasn’t fair to Draco. He had saved her life. Surely he had a plan to get them out then.

“Well,” she said, “what’s next?”

Draco gulped. “I don’t know… Truthfully, I didn’t think this would work…”

The little girl clutched ever tighter onto her mother, and Charity did her best to calm her down but she was panicking too.

Draco swallowed his own growing hysteria, and took a deep breath as a plan began to form in his head. “Alright, I think I have an idea...”

* * *

Rowan paced his office like a caged animal. This supposed to be his respite, the day where he could finally,  _ finally _ spend actual time with his family and work shit out. He was supposed to spend the morning with Monique, Michelle and most importantly, Harry. They were supposed to talk as a family, helping Harry get used to the idea of what a loving family actually was, help him talk through all the trauma he endured up to this point. Sure, one conversation spanning the grand total of one morning wouldn’t solve all the kid’s problems. But for fuck’s sake, at least it would be a  _ start _ .

And once that conversation was had, they were supposed to sit down with Peter and May and discuss some of the issues Peter and Michelle would face. Relationships between magical and non-magical people weren’t common, but they weren’t exactly rare either. There were some small things they had to deal with, along with the massive elephant in the room that was the fact a very dark, very powerful wizard had painted a target on his family's back, and that Peter and May were in a certain amount of danger by associating with them. It was a very, very important conversation that had to be made. Then that all came to a crashing halt when he got an emergency call in for work.

He was already in a horrible mood for being forced to come in to work, today of all days. The fact that Victor  _ fucking  _ Edward called him in and had the absolute  _gal_ to make him wait almost two hours just to tell him why the fuck he was here… well, that was just shit icing on the shit cake. Finally, the aforementioned boss slinked into Rowan’s office.

“Vic, why the  _ fuck _ am I here?” Rowan growled.

Victor physically recoiled at his friend’s vitriolic tone, but dare not chide him for it. Rowan and Monique were the only people in the department who could ever hope to get away with talking to him like that. The perks of not only being the best in the department, but also being in the same graduating class in the auror academy. Plus, they were also friends, and Vic did feel really bad for calling Rowan in on his off day.

“It’s actually important. Sorry for the wait, by the way. I didn’t expect them to take so long,” Vic said as he wordlessly ushered Rowan out of his office and toward Vic’s own.

“Didn’t expect who to take so long?” Rowan asked as they stepped into Vic’s large, but sparsely furnished office.

Despite its cavernous size and vaulted ceilings, Vic kept his office sparse. Two bookshelves stocked with books he never once read, a desk flanked by magically self-organizing filing cabinets, his chair, and chairs for three guests. 

Vic grumbled about the cleaning elves as he straightened his Auror Academy Degree hanging on the wall behind and above his own chair. It was slightly skewed when compared to his Honors Diploma from Ilvermorny. “Take a seat, they’ll be here soon,” Vic said, still fiddling with his two framed degrees, trying to make them hang  _ just _ right.

“ _ Who are ‘they’ _ ?!” Rowan all but shouted. His patience was already hanging by a very thin, very fragile thread, and his boss’s intentional vagueness wasn’t helping matters.

“You’ll see,” Vic replied, neurotically fiddling with his broad rimmed hat.

Almost prophetically, the fireplace in his office burst into verdant flames mere seconds after he said that.

The first to step through was an old, if slightly estranged, friend. Rowan knew that long, well hydrated (i.e. slightly greasy) hair, the prominent nose, bat like robe and surly scowl anywhere. Severus Snape.

The next person to step through, well, Rowan had a much less welcoming reaction to. His hand reflexively went to his wand holster at the sight of the garish robes, long flowing beard, and infuriatingly twinkly eyes. It was a herculean effort, but Rowan managed to resist the overwhelming urge to draw his wand and huck curses.

Rowan turned to Vic, utter contempt and vehemence simmering in his expression. “What is  _ he _ doing here?” Rowan growled.

“Easy, easy there, Rowan,” Vic said, his hands raised and his eyes locked on Rowan’s hand hovering mere millimeters from his wand holster. “Calm down, there just here to talk. That’s all.”

There were two people Rowan hated most in this world. First place trophy went to Voldemort, with Albus Dumbledore earning a very close second place ribbon. But miraculously, Rowan was able to tamp down his unbridled rage and clench his hands in his lap. “Alright, then talk.”

“So, I bet you’re wondering why I’ve brought them here-” Vic began.

“ _ Gee, you think?” _ Rowan spat.

Vic physically took a second to breathe. He understood Rowan was under a lot of pressure, but his attitude was really starting to grate on him. “Rowan. I know you’re buckling under the responsibility of being an exceptionally skilled high ranking auror and having to work on things at home. But, just for a moment, try to see things from my perspective. Imagine how bad  _ I _ got it leading this god damned department! I am trying my fuckin’ damndest to-” 

He caught himself mid rant. Going on a tirade right now wouldn’t be productive. Especially with two relatively important guests in the room.

Rowan, to his credit, seemed to get the message. He didn’t verbally apologize, but the guilt in his eyes conveyed the message.

Vic tried again, “So. I’ve asked our… guests here because I believe we all have things each other needs and there might be a way for us to all work together and solve our problems.” He paused for effect.

“Gentlemen, we are a hair's breadth from muggle intervention,” Vic continued. “The debacle in Europe with ‘Mysterio’, aka Quentin Beck, aka Moldyshorts-” he had to use the childish code because no one truly knew how far the ‘Voldemort’ taboo went, “was the straw that broke Nick Fury’s back. He’s about to get the Avengers involved if we don’t deal with Moldyshorts ‘efficiently, effectively, and immediately’. His words not mine.”

Years ago, the idea of muggle intervention would have been a laughable non-issue to Albus. But that was before the Avengers repelled an actual alien invasion while the wizarding world contributed comparatively nothing to the effort… twice. The idea of the Avengers getting involved was too terrible to even think about.

“And since the British Ministry is… god, I can’t even come up with the right words to describe how colossally incompetent they are right now.” Vic paused again to collect himself. An anti-Fudge tantrum, while cathartic, wouldn’t help anything right now. “Suffice to say, the only person remotely attempting to handle the Moldyshorts problem right now… is you Albus.” 

Vic fiddled with his hat again. “Now, I don’t wanna start an international incident by sending in American Aurors, but unless you can get a handle on this-” 

Albus thought that was an insultingly banal way to describe defeating the greatest dark wizard of the generation… again. But he held his tongue.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” Vic continued, “But… I think there is a way for us to help, without getting directly involved. Albus, I hear you’re having a real devil of a time filing certain faculty positions?”

“That is a bit of a colossal understatement, but yes,” Albus replied. “I have sent letters of interest to every remotely skilled auror and hit-wizard in the country. The only responses I’ve received are variously intense and vulgar ways to say ‘no’.”

Vic nodded, “I see. Well, as luck would have it, I happen to have one of the most skilled aurors in the American east coast sitting right here…”

Rowan was too shocked to say anything.

Meanwhile, Albus nodded thoughtfully, “I… wouldn’t be opposed to taking up the offer... If Rowan is up for making it, of course.”

By now the shock had worn off. “Hold on just a moment,” Rowan huffed, “what happened to me being ‘too militant’ and ‘too quick to violence’ for you to work with me?”

Albus sighed, “At this point, I’m willing to concede that maybe we  _ need _ a bit of your brand of militant violence.” 

He thought back to just a few days ago, when a terrified Charity and her sobbing daughter was apparated into his office by Dobby. Apparently she was saved by Draco’s heroic quick thinking. His family house elves still had occasional contact with Dobby and they were able get ahold of the free elf. And from there, it was simple enough for him to apparate the distraught family directly to Albus’s office. They were currently safe in a secluded cottage in Alaska, spirited away by sympathetic portkey operators. 

Everything worked out in the end, but it was a very close call. Extremely close. The sight of Charity’s terrified little girl desperately clutching onto her mother for dear life, the horrific idea that this all could have ended very, very badly had only a few things gone slightly differently... it made Albus realize something.

His methods weren’t working. In fact, they had never worked. The lukewarm response from both the Order and the Ministry to the Death Eater’s terror campaign had only emboldened the wizarding terrorists. They believed if caught there wouldn’t be much, if any, consequences to their actions, so the committed atrocity after atrocity with zero fear of reprisal. Sure, after the war the Ministry got a bit draconian with throwing people in Azkaban. Sirius was a testament to that. But that only happened after the war, and very sparsely. 

Lucius Malfoy still walked free, despite having all the evidence necessary to throw him in Azkaban and ‘accidentally’ vanish the key. The fact that he never was punished was an absolute indictment of the Ministry’s total inability to hold literal sadistic rapists and murderers accountable. If Albus was to avoid the absolute bloodbath of the first British wizarding war, then he’d have to let go of some of his pacifist morals. At least for now.

“Oh, the great Albus Dumbledore has admitted fault, completely and totally unprompted no less. That is unprecedented. Things must be really going bad across the pond,” Rowan said. 

Okay, he was being a petulant child now. But Albus  _ did  _ try to argue that Rowan should be separated from Monique and Michelle after Rowan made that first initial failed attempt at gaining custody of Harry right after the war ended. So in his defence, he had a little bit of a right to be infuriatingly petulant.

To his absolute shock, Albus didn’t fire back with a jab of his own. Instead, he merely said, “it isn’t that bad… yet. But it is very soon about to be. And as much as it might be hard for you to believe, I wish to avoid that.”

After that shockingly even tempered response, Rowan had to take a deep breath. “Alright… I would have helped regardless, but now I actually  _ want _ to help. Now, aside from being your new Defence professor, how would I go about doing that?”

“For one, I need you to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts to the absolute best of your ability,” Albus replied. When all Rowan had as a response was a quizzical look, Albus began to elaborate. “For decades the populace of Wizarding Britain have had… questionable Defence education at best, and absolutely incompetent professors at worst. By in large, the average British witch or wizard has absolutely abysmal self defense skills, and that allows Death Eaters to rampage through our communities with reckless abandon.”

“Ah, I get it,” Rowan said, “You want me to teach your students as best I can, in hopes that when the Death Eaters come knocking the kids can at least somewhat competently defend their families.”

Albus nodded, “Yes. As much as I’d rather not have my students be the first line of defense for their families, I don’t see much of a choice. We don’t have the resources for community retraining programs. And even if we did, they would most certainly be blocked by the Ministry. Secondly... I may need your services in an... advisory roll. And yes, I promise I will actually listen to you this time.”

Rowan took a very deep breath and thought long and hard about this. The simple idea of throwing himself back into the horrors of a wizarding war was enough to give him a panic attack. But Albus wasn’t asking him to fight, he was asking him to teach others how to fight and advise Albus on how to do direct the fighting. And that… That Rowan might actually be able to do.

“Okay,  _ I’m _ on board, but the thing is, I’m not the one you’ll need convincing. Monique… I might be able to convince her to let me do this, but pulling me away from my family… It will be a hard sell for her,” Rowan said after a moment.

“Oh, she wouldn’t be away from each other for long, I assure you,” Albus replied, “you see… There was an incident with our Muggle Studies professor. She and her child are safe… now. But suffice to say, she won’t be able to take up her position again. Which is where Monique comes in.”

Rowan arched an eyebrow, “Monique and I live a pretty non-magical lifestyle outside of work, and she was raised in a very magic light household, but I hardly think that equips her to be a Muggle Studies professor.”

“Does she understand how electricity works? What about radio, internet, internal combustion? If she has even a fundamental grasp of those concepts, she’ll do fine,” Severus chimed in.

Rowan jolted in his seat. Severus had been so silent this entire time he’d almost forgotten he was there. 

“Beyond that, I’m willing to offer certain… concessions. For starters, your salary will be one and one half times whatever the DMLE is currently paying you. Along with a private, unregistered floo connection between your home and your office-” Albus began, before Rowan interrupted him.

“Speaking of offices, I want Professor Merrythought’s old one, not whatever water closet you’re thinking of shoving me into.”

“Done,” Albus replied, before continuing, “In any case, you’ll have access to your private home when not teaching, which I’ll remind you is a very, very rare privilege indeed.”

“Alright,” Rowan said, “with those conditions… I’m fairly certain I can convince Monique to agree.”

“Good,” Vic chuffed. “Now that that’s all settled… Get out of my office, all of you.” 

Vic didn’t mean to be so rude- oh, he wasn’t kidding anyone, of course he reveled in it. And he had every reason to do so, for while they had all been blathering on a steady stream of paper airplane memos had been accumulating on his desk and now he was woefully behind on his work.

* * *

Albus gave the requisite curt goodbye and promptly walked through the floo, eager to get out of that situation and dive into a new bottle of Ogden’s Old.

Curiously, Severus didn’t follow him. Instead, he turned to Rowan and asked, “May I walk you to your office and have a word?”

Rowan gave a short, clipped nod, and together they left the curmudgeonly auror captain’s office.

“So… it’s been quite a while, hasn’t it?” Rowan said as they traversed the halls of the DMLE. “I’m sorry for not getting in touch its just… it’s hard for me to-”

“I understand, trust me. I understand,” Severus cut him off before Rowan got too emotional.

Eager to hear what his old friend had been up to, Rowan asked, “So, how have the years treated you? Ever manage to open up that apothecary?” 

That had always been Severus’s dream. So imagine Rowan’s surprise when Severus shook his head. 

“No, no. That ship had long since sailed. As soon as I completed my mastery, Albus had… ‘convinced’ me to teach Potions.”

The admission had surprised Rowan so thoroughly that he almost tripped on his own feet. 

“Really?” He squeaked in shock. “He convinced you to _teach_?”

Rowan knew Severus very, very well. He knew Severus was  _ probably _ one of the premier potioneers of their generation. He also knew that despite that immense well of talent and skill, he was a terrible teacher. Sev just didn’t have the patience for it. He was so good at what he did that if someone faltered or needed assistance it was almost emotionally aggravating for him to explain things. In his mind it was the simplest thing in the world, and how  _ dare _ they have the  _ absolute  _ _gal_ to not  _ immediately _ understand?

The only reason Rowan and Lily were able to stay friends with Sev was because they were also really skilled in the art of potioneering, and were able to occasionally surprise Severus with an astute observation or well thought out suggestion. Well, that and they grew up together in the same neighborhood.

Severus let out quite possibly the most exasperated sigh Rowan had ever heard. In fact, he was fairly certain he saw his old friend’s very soul escape between his lips.

“ _ Yes _ ,” Severus replied, drawing out and hissing the word, as he often did when aggravated. “ _ Much... _ to my chagrin, Albus was able to…  _ convince…  _ me.”

“Alright, I’m going to stop you right there.  _ If… _ we are to have this…  _ civilized _ conversation, then you are going to have to speak with a  _ normal human cadence…” _ Rowan said, literally stopping in the middle of the hallway and doing a very, very good impression of his friend’s strange speaking rhythm.

“Right, sorry,” Severus replied with an uncharacteristic chuckle. “It has gotten rather egregious, hasn’t it? I find the only way I can keep the dunderhead’s attention is by making them hang on my every word.”

_ Dunderhead? _ Rowan hadn’t heard that word in almost fifteen years. He was still trying to stifle his laughter as they both entered his office.

“Right, so I assume you had more to talk about than simply reminiscing?” Rowan said as he sat on the edge of his desk.

Severus took a deep breath and nodded, lifting his sleeve past his forearm. Rowan’s eyes widened as he noticed a clear line right below the elbow, just above where Severus’s mark was.

He almost fell of his desk as he realized… Severus’s mark was gone. Totally gone. Which should have been impossible unless… Then he noticed that line on his forearm. The flesh below it wasn’t  _ quite _ flesh. It was a very good approximation, but Rowan’s keen eye noticed the vaguely plastic-y look of the skin of a magical prosthetic. Magical prosthetics were almost as good as the real deal. Able to give one hundred percent tactile feedback, pressure, textures, temperatures, along with comparable reaction times to flesh and bone limbs. The only downside was that if the prosthetic happened to be a wand arm... well, in time one _could_ restore most of their spellcasting ability, but it took a lot of time and dedication.

“So… you’ve finally got out, huh?” Rowan asked, marveling at the fact his friend had the balls to take a dark severing curse to his own arm. “How’d you manage that?”

Severus looked even more nervous now. “It wasn’t anything I did. No, Albus simply… found a replacement spy. And the instant he did, well-” he punctuated the statement by making a chopping motion on his forearm.

“And this is where I need your help. Or more specifically, your daughter’s help,” Severus said, suddenly very nervous.

Rowan was obviously very against involving his daughter in whatever this was, but despite that, he motioned for Severus to continue.

“My replacement is… I can’t tell you specifics, but they’re a student,” Severus said.

“I’m sorry?” Rowan said, utterly shocked. “You’re telling me a  _ student _ offered to replace you. They offered to take the most dangerous job I could think of… and you  _ let them?”  _ Rowan was suddenly reconsidering rekindling his friendship with Severus.

“I know, I know, it’s despicable of me,” Severus agreed. “But… Rowan. I’ve been doing this for nearly twenty years. I’ve had to live as someone I’m not for so long that I think… I think I’ve actually forgotten what I’m really like. All because the Dark Lord  _ might _ return.” He literally swallowed his emotion.

“And off course, he has,” Severus continued. “And I’m not running away. Quite the opposite. For once in my life, I’d actually like to fight for the side I actually believe in. Instead of pretending to be a Death Eater so I can pass information that  _ might _ be useful on to the Order. I want to  _ fight _ , you understand? Actually declare that I’m  _ not _ one of them, and fight them.”

Okay, never mind. If Rowan didn’t have a very important family dinner right after this, he’d take Severus out to his favorite bar.

“Right, so… you have this kid who is willing to take your role as spy for the Order. Now… what exactly does that have to do with my daughter?” Rowan asked.

“I’ve been a spy for a very long time, Rowan,” Severus replied, “and in all that time, the one thing I’ve realized is that if they are to succeed, a good spy needs an even better handler. Someone who can cover for them when their character slips, someone who can help them sort through all the information and find the actually important things, and above all else; someone who can support them through the emotional trauma.”

“And you think Michelle can do that for this spy?” Rowan asked.

Severus nodded sharply.

Rowan sighed, “Well, why can’t you be that handler then?”

“It would never work. By now the Dark Lord knows I am not and never have been on his side. There are children of Death Eaters who go to Hogwarts. They’ll be watching me like a hawk. Hell, they might even make the occasional attempt on my life. Our spy could never meet with me for fear of being exposed,” Severus said.

“That’s where your daughter comes in,” he continued. “She’s… what, seventeen by now? She could be enrolled easily enough. We could even claim she’s enrolling to stay close to you and Monique. And if she’s even half as intelligent and quick-witted as her parents, she should do marvelously.”

Rowan smirked, “Now now, Severus, you should know by now that flattery will get you nowhere. And I’ll have you know that Michelle is twice as intelligent and resourceful than Monique and I combined.”

Despite that, Rowan sighed. His sell had just gotten much, much harder. Because of how a magical education had so drastically altered the trajectory of her life, Monique was dead set against Michelle getting a magical education through the regular institutions. Though… Michelle had already passed Ilvermorny’s graduation exams with flying colors. There really was no way that a bunch of Hogwarts professors could ramrod her into a profession she inherently disliked. Especially if Rowan and Monique were part of the faculty...

“Alright, I’ll try to convince Monique. But no promises, you understand?” Rowan said.

Severus excitedly nodded, something very uncharacteristic for him. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this would mean to Dr-” he caught himself, “to our spy.”

Rowan checked the clock hanging in the corner. “Oh man, okay. As much as I’d love to go hit a few bars and catch up, I actually have a very, very important family dinner in about… five minutes.”

“I understand,” Severus replied.

“But,” Rowan continued, “if you’re going to be in town for the next couple of days, I  _ might _ be able to scrounge enough free time to catch up.”

And with that, they said their curt goodbyes. Severus flooed to the magical hotel he was staying at. He wasn’t like Albus. If he was going to visit America, he was going to at least get a small vacation out of it. Rowan waited for his friend’s billowing cloak to be fully engulfed by green fire, before he himself stepped through.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm back! That was quick wasn't it? Well, considering what happened over the past week, well... I turned to writing to help cope with it all. And because if that... I know my characters are suddenly more emotionally charged than normal, okay? I'm coping by working some of my emotions through them. Anyway, also. Speaking of characters and characterization... Yes, I'm making Severus considerably more palatable as a character in this story. He's not a perfect person by any stretch, but there's no way in hell I'm keeping him as a vindictive incel fascist.
> 
> Same with Draco. It always bugged me how canonically through Cursed Child we're supposed to think Draco went through this grand redemption and now isn't a slathering at the mouth racist (or at least, the wizarding version of a racist). So... I did what Rowli-I mean, the author who shall not be named, never did and gave Draco a redemption arc. Well, in my story it's less of a redemption arc and more of a redemption screaming 180 heel face turn, but like. Okay, in my opinion, if someone has... less than savory beliefs, when confronted with the realities those beliefs bring, there is one of two outcomes. One, they shrug their shoulders and just go with it. Or two, they realize how awful it all is and rejects it entirely. So like. In a way, I think Draco's heel face turn is kind of realistic.
> 
> Anyway, I'm off to finish up the next chapter. You may or may not see it sooner than you think, depending on my irl schedule. Anyway, ciao!


	15. Chapter 15

May drove her battered old Volvo down the street leading to the Jones’ residence. Michelle’s parents wanted to have a little dinner together with her and Peter, just to discuss certain aspects of their relationship. Even though Peter and MJ had only been officially dating for two weeks and some change, considering the nature of their relationship, it was kind of imperative that they hash things out. Apparently while it wasn’t exactly rare for magical people to date non-magical people, it did require certain conversations to be had.  
“You okay Peter, you seem nervous,” May said as the old clunker pootled along.

“Nervous?” Peter jolted, “Me? No, I’m fine. No nerves here.” 

“You’ve met Michelle’s parent’s before, Pete. Heck, you stayed the night at her house!”

And judging by the spring in Peter’s step the next day, May thought they might have gotten intimate on some level that night. She had no problem with that, of course. She trusted Peter to make good decisions and be safe, and from what she knew of Michelle, May could trust her to do the same.

“I know,” Peter grumbled, “but this is a capital F capital D Family Dinner. This is different.”

As May pulled into the driveway she couldn’t help but share her nephew’s trepidation. Of course she wasn’t actually afraid of the Jones’. It was just… there were a lot of unknowns. And as much as she tried to keep an open mind, the unknowns made her nervous. 

She and Peter walked through a lovely little front garden to the front door. When May rang the doorbell there was a flurry of light thuds from somewhere inside the house, before a young woman who had to be in her mid twenties answered the door in a rush.

“Oh, you must be May,” she said as she ushered them inside. “I’m Monique. Make yourselves at home, Michelle and Harry are helping my grandmother in the kitchen with dinner, so it shouldn’t be much longer.”

“A’ight boy, don’t chop that onion too fine now, we want it to break down some,” Marie said. As always, she was the head of the kitchen.

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry dutifully replied.

“Mimi, you keepin’ an eye on that roux?” Marie called to Michelle.

MJ who had been spending the last forty minutes stirring oil and flour, rolled her eyes. “Yes, Meemaw. And before you say anything, yes, I know we want it dark but not burned.”

“Good,” Marie said as she added seasoning to a massive pot of boiling water. She could have done without the sass, but she let it slide. After all, of all her numerous descendants, Michelle was probably the most deft in a kitchen. 

May watched them work for a little bit, suddenly feeling just a tad inadequate. She wasn’t the greatest cook, she could admit it. But watching them work like a well oiled machine brought her own lack of skill into stark contrast.

“So um,” May said turning to Monique, “when will your parents get here?”

Monique looked at her quizzically. “No… my parents live in Atlanta… I mean, if you want to meet them I guess I could arrange it…”

Peter deftly saved them from the misunderstanding. “Oh, May, um. Monique is MJ’s mom.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” May squeaked. “It’s just uh. You don’t look like a mom- I mean, not that someone has to look like a mom to be a mom-”

Monique stifled a laugh. “Hun, you’re fine, don’t worry. Despite me looking roughly three years older than Michelle, I’m actually thirty-seven.”

“Hey Peter,” MJ called from the kitchen, “can you help us out real quick. We need your super muscles to pour the shrimp boil.”

“Sure thing!” Peter called, eager to help.

Which just left the two women to mill about in the living room.

“So, um… I’m sorry, but like… I just… how are you…” There May went, being all awkwardly babbly again.

“So young looking?” Monique supplied for her.

May nodded.

“Yeah, I guess it is a bit… supernatural looking huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” May said. 

“No, you’re absolutely fine for thinking it. I think it’s weird too. Magical aging is very strange by comparison. Basically, from birth to around, oh, twenty years old or so, we age at the ‘normal’ rate. But after twenty, it slows to about half the normal speed. But that rate doesn’t stay the same, either. It slowly starts to increase the older we get. It never gets ‘normal’ but it gets close.”

“You know, the more I think about it the more I wouldn’t want that,” May said after thinking about the implications. “So does that mean when you eventually do start feeling old...”

Monique nodded, “And now you get the tradeoff. There’s a reason the number one cause of death for elderly magicals is suicide. Turns out, it kinda sucks being old for a really really long time.”

“Well, that’s depressing,” May said.

Monique sighed, “Yeah, sorry for bringing down the mood.”

“So,” May said, eager to change the subject, “Peter tells me you and your husband are like… wizard cops?”

Monique chuckled, “Kinda, but not really. Rowan and I are aurors, and I guess the closest non-magical analogue would probably be detectives or investigators. Hit-wizards and witches are our equivalent of standard police.”

“Either way, that’s more exciting than what I do. I just work for the Public Housing Agency,” May sighed.

“Hey, now,” Monique urged, “don’t sell yourself short. Helping people get low income housing is very cool. Besides, I’d honestly prefer something less exciting. My job is stressful and dangerous and- ugh, you don’t wanna listen to me complain.”

“No, it's fine,” May said. “Um. This is a genuine question, I don’t wanna seem rude or anything. But um. You don’t seem to like your job… why not go for something else?”

Monique snickered darkly, “Oh, if only. One of the myriad of awful things about the magical world is that our schools are tailor made to find what you’re good at. And normally that would be okay… but once they find your talents, they railroad you into careers based on said talent. When I was a kid, I loved magizoology. I dreamed of travelling the world, studying all kinds of magical creatures great and small. Then, during my fifth year aptitude test I scored just a _smidge_ higher in combative spellcasting than magical creatures studies. And two letters of recommendation later, I was shoved into the auror program. And sure, I could find another job. But that would require me being fired first. I can’t resign unless I intend to retire from work entirely.”

“That’s awful…” May whispered.

“Yeah, that’s why we had Michelle go to a non magical school and home school her in magic. I don’t want her to be hamstrung like I was.” Monique sighed, “Sorry, there I go, bringing down the mood again…”

“No, no, feel free to vent,” May said, “you seem like you need someone to talk to…”

Monique smiled shyly, “Th-thanks…” Monique took a deep breath and prepared to let weeks of repressed stress loose. “Okay, so things have gone to hell in a handbasket in the magical world. The worst dark wizard of the last sixty years has somehow come back. And the first fuckin’ thing he does is pull that shit in Venice and Prague and nearly out the magical world. And because of that Rowan and I have been so busy at work it almost feels like we live in our goddamn offices.”

By now Monique was punctuating her sentences with staccato breaths, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“And to make matters fuckin’ worse, we _finally_ managed to get our nephew out of a really shitty living situation. He has major psychological issues we need to help him with-”   
Monique’s eyes burned as damb finally started to break.

“A-and w-we can’t because we’re work all the time. So Michelle h-has to be the one to h-help him acclimate t-to everything and…. And I love her for t-taking that responsibility u-up without complaining once. B-but that’s n-not her- she shouldn’t have to worry-” Monique was almost hysterical by now.

“I-I feel trapped. My k-kids need m-me and I can’t do fuckin’ an-anything f-or th-them-” And that was the last straw. Monique broke down into incoherent sobs, and May immediately took the younger woman into her arms.

It took a good couple minutes of comforting, but eventually Monique was able to speak coherent sentences again. “I-I’m sorry for unloading my emotional baggage on you… fuck, I just met you like ten minutes ago…”

“Hey, it’s fine, swee-” she caught herself. As much as Monique looked like a young woman making her first steps into adulthood, she actually was a thirty-seven year old woman. And May thought calling her ‘sweetheart’ was a little infantilizing. “It’s okay Monique. I don’t mind. I like listening.”

Monique sniffed, “T-thanks… I really needed that. You know, today was supposed to be Rowan and I’s day off. But of _course_ the office had to call him in this morning…”

* * *

“Ai’ght y’all, soup’s… on…” Marie said as she walked into the living room. She trailed off as she saw Monique in May’s arm, crying into the crook of her neck.

The kids were right behind her, and probably got a good glance of Monique’s minor breakdown before Marie shooed them back into the kitchen. “Uh- ai’ght kids, there’s dirty dishes that need cleanin’. Best take care of them now, ya hear?”

May mouthed ‘thank you’ to the elderly matriarch, then continued comforting her new friend. Or, she would have, if the freakin’ fireplace hadn’t exploded in green fire. May yelped, but before her freakout could continue, a man in a three piece suit and glorious flowing red cape stepped through.

“Rowie!” Monique cried, and almost knocked him over with the force of her embrace.

Rowan had been married to Monique for almost eighteen years. And in that time he had barely begun to be able to translate the babbling she devolved into when she started sobbing.

What he did get from muffled sobs coming from his shoulder was something about falling apart at the seams, hating her job, and being a terrible mother. Oh boy. He _really_ shouldn’t have left her alone today.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered into the crook of your neck. “You’re a wonderful mom-” he was interrupted by another string of muffled babbling. “I know, I know, it’s okay… look at me, baby…”

He gently cupped her cheeks and looked her in her watery eyes. “Everything’s gonna work out. I know it seems awful now, but… it’ll get better. I can’t exactly say why I think that right now, but you’re just going to have to trust me, okay?”

Monique sniffed and gave a shaky nod. “Okay.”

Rowan smiled and peppered her cheeks with kisses. And the tear tracks (literally) magically disappeared, her snotty nose cleared up, and the running mascara wiped itself away. And just like that it instantly became almost impossible to tell that she had been crying.

May cooed softly. Oh, it was just so _sweet_! Also, she was kind of jealous, to be honest. She wished she could have someone who could literally kiss her ugly-crying face away whenever she broke down.

Monique giggled like she was an eighteen year old being swept off her feet. The one good thing about having a mental breakdown was the attention she got from Rowan afterward. “Oh, by the way, this is my new friend May,” she managed, after the giggles passed.

May smiled. “Hi, um… you must be Rowan.”

Rowan smiled and poked his chest with his thumb, “That’s me, the emotional support tree-man.”

They were about to go into the kitchen and finally get this capital F capital D, Family Dinner started, when they saw a dark red flash of cloth disappear from around the corner of the kitchen doorway.

“Meemaw,” Monique said as she turned the corner to confront the old crone, “were you eavesdropping?”

Marie shook her head so vigorously she almost shook her head wrapping clean off. “Naw, naw, ‘course not!”

“Meemaw, dropping eaves? Ridiculous,” MJ said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

They all had a good laugh at that and sat down to eat. Well, they didn’t eat immediately. Marie, Monique and MJ paused, clasped hands, and began to whisper in Louisiana creole. Now, May wasn’t at all versed in southern creole languages, but she did recognize the cadence of their whispers. It seemed to her to be some kind of Lord’s Prayer.

And in fact, that’s exactly what it was. Marie was a practicing voodoo priestess, but she was also Roman Catholic. And surprisingly, those two different belief systems were mostly compatible. Though… that being said, Marie wasn’t always a very good Catholic. She almost never observed lent, struggled with remembering her catechisms, and rarely did she recite prayers before meal times. Only in big important events, like this dinner.

Monique wasn’t a very religious person at all. In fact, she’d probably count herself as an agnostic, if not outright atheist. But she participated in the prayer regardless of her beliefs, because the act itself was comforting to her. She grew up with these prayers and reciting them again conjured soothing memories of grand cookouts, surrounded by a sea of family and friends, more people than she could ever possibly count.

If her mother could count herself as ‘not very religious’, then by comparison MJ was a very staunch atheist. She didn’t go so far as to belittle believers or anything. But religious belief systems were very much antithetical to her own values. That didn’t mean she didn’t like joining in on the prayer though. Like her mom, she found them soothing in a nostalgic kind of way. Though, that being said, she only liked doing them in an informal setting, like the dinner table. Getting her to sit through any kind of organized prayer at a church would be downright impossible.

The three women all finished their prayers rather quickly, their heads rising at the same time. Marie smiled wide. “Ai’ght, naw we can eat!”

Oh, and eat they did. Marie and the kids really outdid themselves. There were two types of gumbo, one seafood and one chicken and pork and sausage. They shared the table with a platter of boiled shrimp, a huge bowl of jambalaya, another of dirty rice, plenty of collard greens, and a heaping pile of rillons.

“Michelle, show ya beau how to suck th’ shrimp heads. That’s where all the _real_ nutrients are, child. Harry, I better not see you pokin’ those greens ‘round ya plate no mo’. Y’need those, son. May, go ‘head an’ wipe tha’ guilty look off ya face. Ya can go ahead an’ have mo’ rillons. Yeah, they ain’t healthy, but we won’t tell no one.”

Monique rolled her eyes, “Meemaw, you don’t need to micromanage how everyone eats.”

Marie huffed, “Looks to me like I sure do. Non’ y’all seem to know how to feed y’selves.”

Of course, by the sly smirks and fake looks of indignation Monique and Marie were batting back and forth, it was plain to everyone that nobody meant anything by it, and it was just friendly family banter.

“So um… Peter tells me you’re a practicing voodoo priestess? Like… actual voodoo?” May asked Marie.

“Yes ma’am!” Marie vigorously nodded, catching her head wrapping before it plopped into the gumbo.  
“Damn thing was easier t’keep on m’head when I had mo’ hair,” Marie grumbled to herself as she tied it tighter. Hopefully that would keep it on better. “Anyway, yup! Voodoo’s in m’blood. My mama, Marie Laveau, taught me when I was little. An’ I taught my children, who taught their children, and so on and so on.”

“Though,” Monique said with a wince, “Michelle and I aren’t very proficient. I can only really do voodoo healing spells.”

“At least you can do that. The most I can do is make a weak stunner,” MJ grumbled.

Marie sighed, “What’ve I always told y’all girls? It’s not like wand wavin’, you can’t just start practicin’ and expect to be raisin’ the dead after a few years. It takes a lifetime o’ practice. The only reason I’m so good is cuz I’m almost two hundred years ol’.”

It was at that moment the cobwebs cleared from May’s head, and she suddenly remembered a few little factoids from her Occult Studies class in college. “Wait… Marie Laveau… as in… the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, Marie Laveau? The one who supposedly died in the 1880’s?”

Marie gasped, and again, she nodded so vigorously her headwrap nearly flew off. “Tha’s my mama al’aight! Though, she died in the 1950’s. She only faked her death to throw off her enemies, but that’s a story fo’ anothuh time.”

“Oh, please? Pretty please?” May begged. She really wanted to know this story.

“Ah, shucks. Since y’all asked so sweetly. ‘Kay, so back n’ th’ day, mama had a rival. We don’t talk his name. Even jus’ sayin’ it brings him respect he don’ deserve. Anyway, one day mama got the bright idea to fake her own drownin’ in the Lousianna swamp. An’ when her rival came t’look fo’ her body, mama popped outta th’ water an summoned a swarm of alligators. They to’ him limb from limb, an’ left not but a few bits o’ pulped flesh and shards o’ bone.”

Marie smirked, “Anyway, the no-maj’s of Lousianna kep’ tellin’ the story that mama had died, and she was kinda wantin’ to retire anyway, so she didn’t correct nobody. But New Orleans still needed a voodoo priestess protector, so after that, I stopped goin’ by Eloise and started goin’ by my firs’ name, Marie. An’ after that people kinda started confusing me for my mama. But I digress.”

And of course, that lead to another story, and another, and another. And soon dinner was pretty much just Marie telling stories from her and her mother’s life. How she spent her youth honing her voodoo skills by helping out the Underground Railroad, how she used her voodoo magic to undermine the Confederate defenders of Forts Jackson and St. Phillip, and her decades long mortal rivalry with Francois Duvalier.

Eventually dinner had wound down and the table was cleared. MJ passed out slices of praline pie while Harry poured cups of dessert tea.

“Alright,” Rowan said as everyone settled into their dessert. “Now unfortunately we gotta get to brass tax.”

“Fortunately for the two of you,” Monique took over, addressing Peter and MJ, “Magical America is incredibly integrated into non-magical society, at least compared to the rest of the world. That makes navigating a relationship like this kind of easy, because societal systems have already been put in place to smooth all this over.”

“Wait, so if it’s not a big deal… why call us over? Not that I’m complaining,” May said.

“Because well, that would normally be the case for most families… there are some things you gotta know about ours,” Rowan said. He glanced at Harry before continuing. “But well… a lot of this isn’t my place to say. Harry, I know we didn’t get a chance to talk about this before hand but…”

“No, its fine,” Harry shook his head. “They have a right to know what they’re getting into, huh?” He took a deep, laborious breath, and began his story. “So, I guess it kind of starts with a cupboard under the stairs…”

* * *

The more Harry talked, the more and more May’s maternal instincts urged her to pull the lanky young man into a long hug. Not only had he lost his parents at a very young age, he had also endured living with a horrific family, and _on top of it all_ a certain headmaster apparently saw fit to let him ‘hero complex’ his way into progressively more dangerous situations year after year. Which culminated in the return of the evil wizard who had killed his parents and apparently started a secret race war in Britain. 

“So, as you can see this dark wizard really _really_ has it out for this family,” Rowan said as Harry finished his story. “And well, historically he never attempted to extend his influence outside of magical Britain.”

“Until this Summer,” Monique said, “when he attempted to infiltrate the Avengers and pulled the crap he tried in Venice and Prague. That was very out of character for him. He normally tries to avoid no-maj attention. But now he doesn’t seem to care, which frankly, terrifies us because before he was rather predictable, but now-” Monique caught herself, “Sorry, you probably don’t wanna hear all that. Anyway, so yeah… it’s… hard to say, but being associated with this family will probably put a target on your back,” Monique finished.

May and Peter shared a quick glance, and seemed to wordlessly agree on something.

“So um… I’m Spider-Man, obviously,” Peter said, “and believe me when I say mortal danger and I are… well acquainted, if not old friends. The way I see it, this is just another thing for me to have at the back of my mind, along with everything else I have to deal with as Spider-Man.”

“As for me,” May said, “I’m kind of in the same boat. I’m always vaguely in danger thanks to this brat,” May said, playfully punching Peter in the shoulder, “so what’s just a smidge more danger to add to the pile?”

Rowan and Monique didn’t look so sure. “Well, this danger is a little bit more… dangerous, I guess,” Monique said.

“Voldemort- oh, that’s the evil wizard’s name by the way. And his name has a taboo curse over Britain and Europe. Which means if you say it, he’ll automatically know where you are and you can expect Death Eaters- those are his followers- to be at your location in minutes.” Rowan sighed, “What was I gonna say again?”

That explanation did take the wind out of Peter and May’s ‘scoffing in the face of danger’ sails. If the guy could know where you were just by saying his name… what else could he do?

“Oh right,” Rowan said after a second, “Okay so we don’t know the extent of Moldyshorts- that’s the mock name American wizards gave him by the way, uh, but I digress. Anyway, we don’t know the extent of his spy network.”

“We know for sure he’s got agents in the British Ministry,” Monique continued for Rowan. “But outside of that, we really don’t know how far his influence extends. You might be in danger right now, despite how far New York is from Britain. We just don’t know.”

“And well…” MJ winced, “no offence Peter, but um… you uh… you didn’t do so well against the Death Eaters in Prague…”

MJ didn’t have to remind him. He remembered. And he could still feel the bruises in his ribs to an extent.

“And um… okay, I want us to be together, but it’s gonna require us to work on things. Things that normal relationships don’t have to work on…” MJ trailed off.

“What I think my daughter is trying to say is that we’re going to have to help you work on dealing with dark wizards, recognizing threats, how to best neutralize them without magic…” Monique sighed, “It’ll be hard work, but we should be able to handle it. We’ll just fold Peter into Harry’s magical education here at home-”

“Wait… so I’m not going back to Hogwarts?” Harry asked sadly. He expected it, of course. But still. Despite the danger he faced on a yearly basis there, he _liked_ Hogwarts. In many ways it was his first home. And he had friends there… his only friends really…

“Well…” Rowan winced. So this seemed a good time as any to bring up what happened at work today… “That might not be the case.”

Monique got a dark, argumentative look on her face. “What do you mean Rowan? We talked about this and we agreed…”

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Rowan took a deep breath and explained what was discussed at work today. He’d be the first to admit that bringing this up with Harry around was a bit below the belt. But, he’d need those big bespectacled puppy dog eyes on his side if he was going to win Monique over.

“So… you actually want to work for the man who resisted us at every turn during the first war?” Monique asked incredulously.

“Look, sweetie, you weren’t there. Albus… seemed different. Now, I’ll admit I still have my doubts, but he genuinely seems like he wants to work with us and accept our advice…” Rowan replied.

“I’d really have to go to Hogwarts?” MJ asked. “W-what about finishing up at Midtown, what about college applications?” Her breath hitched, “A-and I don’t wanna be away from Peter for months on end…”

“Oh, baby, Dumbledore said we could have a personal floo connection to home. You could see him after school and on the weekends,” Rowan said.

“Hell, y’should just bring ‘im with ya,” Marie said with a scoff.

“Um… well, that could work, but Hermione, my brainiac friend from school, once told me that Hogwarts has really strong muggle repelling charms. I don’t think he could be let in…” Harry added.

“Oh, I don’ think that’ll be much of a problem,” Marie said as she stared at Peter unblinkingly.

“Um… hi…” Peter said awkwardly, withering under the stare of the ancient crone.

“Come ‘ere boy,” Marie said, scooting her chair over and taking Peter’s hands in her own, “lemme get a real look a’chu.”

She closed her eyes, and in her mind’s eye imagined tendrils of her own magic flowing into Peter’s hands, up his arms, and down to his solar plexus. And there they found a small, but very strong ball of magic…

“Ah,” Marie said with a smirk as she opened her eyes. “Y’were right Mimi. He does got a magic spark in ‘im.”

“Wait? What?” Peter cried. “How’d that happen?”

“The spider bite, Peter,” MJ said, “Obviously your powers are derived from magic. Your stickiness-”

“Van der Waals forces, of course,” Peter interrupted her.

“Sure,” MJ continued, “but how do you think you manipulate Van der Waals forces, Peter?”

“Wait, so… you’re saying Peter got bit by a magic spider and not a genetically modified one?” May asked.

“It was probably both,” Monique said. “If it was just a magic spider, he’d probably be dead. A lot of them have horrifically powerful venom.”

“Oh right,” MJ said. She thought about the details of that field trip from so long ago. “Didn’t… didn’t the Stark tour person say that the spider was cross bred from a new species found in Borneo?”

“Acromentula,” Monique said.

“Bless you?” May replied.

“No, Acromentula are a species of giant magical spiders native to Borneo…” Monique said. 

“Wait, aren’t they gigantic or something?” MJ asked.

“Not all of them,” Harry chimed in, remembering the acromentula colony in the Dark Forest. “They start out fairly small. Like, tarantula sized. They grow huge though.”

“They… did mention something about a strange source of radiation in a new spider species… they wanted to harness it by cross breeding it…” Peter said.

Rowan nodded, “When magic is detected by instrumentation it's often seen as a strange type of electromagnetic radiation…”

“Wait,” Peter said. “Does that mean I could like, pick up a wand and do magic?”

Marie shook her head, “Sadly no. Y’may be able t’pull off some weak spells, yeah. But your magical core ain’t like most magical people’s. It’s… like you’re a magical creature. You have enough magic to have certain magical traits, but y’probably won’t be able to cast very complex magic.”

“Aw,” Peter said sadly. “But does that mean I can go to Hogwarts with MJ and Harry?”

“Probably,” Rowan replied. “I think I could convince Dumbledore to allow you to have some kind of junior staff position, seeing as you probably won’t be able to pass as a student…”

“That is,” Monique cut in, “if May agrees.”

“I’ll… think about it.” She was kidding herself. She made the mistake of looking at Peter’s big, expressive, adorable doe eyes and it was a forgone conclusion…

* * *

They spent the rest of the evening planning everything out. And once that was done, May decided to head home, leaving Peter to spend the night at the Jones’s.

“So um…” MJ said as she closed her bedroom door. “I uh… made something for you,” she continued nervously as she pulled a small gift bag out of her desk drawer.

Peter fished around the wrapping tissue and retrieved a tiny leather satchel. It really did look like a satchel bag, just in extreme miniature, as it fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. The leather was stained red and blue, with a black spider web pattern over the entire thing. And centered on the flap was his black spider symbol. It was lovely, but Peter didn’t quite know it’s purpose. It was far too small to store anything, after all.

“It’s a gris-gris charm,” MJ said, answering Peter’s unasked question. “It’s um. It’ll protect you. Physically, I mean. And um. Not just that but um…” She got very nervous looking. “And… it’s also a contraceptive charm. But uh, well. Like… specific to us.”

“Wait…” Peter asked, “So are you saying that…”

“I’m willing to take the ‘next step’, so to speak?” MJ said. “Yeah… Um… if you are… that is.” 

“Okay,” Peter replied in a hushed whisper.

“Okay,” MJ replied. She waved her wand at her doorknob, and the hallway beyond the door was bathed in a strong blue light.

Like many first times, it was messy, clumsy, and a little short. But despite that, both Peter and MJ slept with content smiles on their faces, their limbs entangled...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! Looks like Peter and MJ are going to Hogwarts! I think I'm going to have one or two more chapters set in the Summer, but after that we'll get to the real meat and potatoes of this story... finally... after like 15 chapters. This was so much smoother and streamlined in my head. Anywho, that's all for now. Ciao!


End file.
